Trip to IU, Part II

By ART MCGREGOR
Blog on the Run editor

On Friday nights you can find me in the Club.

The staff/roster at Club 185 on Friday nights this winter is probably my favorite since I started frequenting the bar on Oct. 21, 2005. Although the old Wednesday night duo in the winter of 2006 is probably "my favorite," the fact that it's four or five people on a busy Friday night is special. That said, I probably enjoy going to The Patio on Friday night (whatever the season) more.

The Patio has figured it out. It's the one bar in the arena district that seems to be the least douchiest which is something amazing because it shares space with Sugar, the Afflicshirt capital of the world. They always have fun bands playing good cover tunes and the chicks are hot and rather friendly. The pictured girl was there and is probably one of the Top Five, Ten or 20 Most Beautiful Girls in Columbus That Hang Out In Bars In The Arena District.

The Athlete visited us this weekend with a couple of his buddies. He made it clear that he wanted to "do anything but Club 185." We gathered in a cab van and headed to The Patio where my Patio Hook-Up (great girl) got us a table and free cover. We laughed, stared at hot chicks, drank beers, did some shots and I talked to a rather hot girl who told me she "loved my look." I wore that one green plaid shirt that I wear out at least twice a week. I am thinking it returns this Thursday at The Lodge Bar, although I wore it there this past Thursday and then again on Friday night. Saturday I went with a scarlet Ohio State T-shirt that got a lot of love from various people.

We wanted to leave for IU on Saturday morning at 10 a.m. We left at 11:45 a.m. This is mainly because of the drinking the previous night, the ShamWow demonstration when we got home and an apple chucking contest in my backyard (in my bare feet with eight inches of snow on the ground). I smell a sick day!

The ride to Indiana and back home went by so fucking quickly. When we got home, we vedged a bit before going to The Little Bar.

I can't believe The 1 didn't show up at The Little Bar with us for last night's game. It almost reminds me of a boy-girl relationship (no offense) where one party needs the other party a lot more. I love The 1 and anytime I ask him about something or for something that doesn't require his presence, he does it in a heartbeat. But I'm bummed he couldn't make the Kings of Leon concert on Tuesday and then the Super Bowl on Sunday because they're shit we talked about for weeks, if not months, and you just never know if he's going to actually show up. He likely had good-to-excellent reasons for both decisions but it's frustrating. It's not like I'm going to stop asking him to do stuff because I like spending time with him. Like I said. It's almost like a boy-girl relationship and I'm the bitch in this relationship.

I feel bad because McGinley posted some stuff about how few people ask him to do stuff anymore now that he's not drinking and I'm responsible for that as well. I haven't asked McGinley to do something since he's been back in November. I apologize for that.

You can't fake crazy. Marshawn (Bills fan) and Screaming Steelers Fan were at the bar and it was absolutely amazing. There were about 10-15 obnoxious Browns fans there as The Godfather dubbed the place "Deadwood."

There are no laws in The Little Bar.

It's just a collection of yelling, shot taking, swearing, beer drinking with the best bar owner in Columbus and unfriendly, hot bartenders. Browns No. 82 wore a ripped Steelers T-shirt. She has still yet to engage me in any sort of conversation (my life's dream) but she did remember my last name on my tab after the fourth time she asked for it. Baby steps. We sat in the middle of the bar. We had like seven or eight beers and felt ZERO buzz. Not a good sign.

You can't fake crazy. The obnoxious Browns fans were just a bit much. Yelling every five seconds and saying something funny just 9 percent of the time. That other 91 percent for four straight hours got to be a little much. The Bills fans during the regular season and Steelers guy are flat-out crazy (in a good way) and you actually laugh at the insane shit they say. Fucking hilarious. I can't do justice (with written words) to the Steelers guy celebration after the game other than he told Browns fans, "Hey, we did it for the AFC!" and he kept saying/slurring/yelling, "Black president!" I got him to reenact his famous WOO-WOO-WOO-WOO with four alternating fist/whole arm pumps. I am going to do that move a ton in the coming months given anything to celebrate. Like having a chick tell me "she loves my look."

WOO.
WOOO.
WOO.
WOOOOOO.

The Godfather and I are excellent at making up fake professional expansion teams. We'd like to have two NHL teams in north central Ohio. The Richland Rampage and (Canadien accent) "da" Norton Nordiques. Last night we said the Browns and the Steelers should combine forces and become the Cleveburgh Strowns.

(In Pittsburgh accent)

"Do do do do
Here we go
Strowns
Do do
Here we go
Strowns
Doo do doo
Here we go
Strowns
We got a feelin'
Dat Cleveburgh's
Goin' to dah
Supah Bowl"

We then said all trophies and team operations would move to Youngstown, Ohio. We talked about this for six hours. the Truth (who joined us late and in-between cigarette breaks) didn't understand.

You know. I hate the Steelers. I really do but what's the point anymore? I didn't feel bad at all after yesterday's win. Who cares if they win the next 100 Super Bowls. What does it change?

I am the most unlucky sports fan in the history of the United States. Teams I root against and hate are now 15-2 in championship games. The teams I love are 1-6. That's 3-21 total. Fucking astonishing considering championship games are supposed to be relatively equal. There's no way I should be anything worse than 10-14 or 11-13. God hates me.

Our row of nine people at the Ohio State-Indiana game never shut up. We barely said things that made any sense. People that sit near us absolutely have to think we're crazy. We just talk and talk and talk and talk. I like that we don't use profanity. I hate when people cuss as games because there are fucking kids around. McGinley's "Kay Yow/Hey Now" Outkast remix is so fucking funny. Did you hear Kay Yow died? We said that at least 94 times. In two hours.

Assembly Hall at IU is fucking great. Maybe I will have a better memory of the place because Ohio State won but it's just a cool old school facility and Indiana has the most passionate basketball fans I have ever been around.

Great weekend. I had a 13-hour straight text message conversation with a girl. The Godfather finally asked me who I was texting. I need a night off. Pumped about going over to the trendys tonight for Gossip Girl. I will be going to the Blue Jackets game tomorrow night with Baltimore.

Quite the stretch I just wrapped up:

Tuesday - Kings of Leon concert Here's a more professional review.
Wednesday - Michigan v. Ohio State in college basketball
Thursday- HOT COLLEGE GIRLS Night at The Lodge Bar
Friday - The Patio w/ Athlete and Co.
Saturday - IU
Sunday - Super Bowl at The Little Bar

I am fucking destroying my body, killing myself with alcohol and feeling like shit whenever I'm not drinking.

February is lookin' good!

Trip to IU, Part I

By ART MCGREGOR
Blog on the Run editor

"You called her a townie," The Godfather said.

"To her face?"

"Yep."

Oops. She deserved it though. I really wanted to say, "you're married to a dude with earrings."

Not quite sure what it is about me. Whether I've got a smug face, a face that frustrates people, a face that looks like I should get my ass kicked or what. But for doing nothing except playing songs on a juke box and picking up my coat, I got into two neverending "fights" where people stared at me and yelled at me or asked me, "are you saying smart things about me?"

I knew I'd need those condoms.

The townie lady (not an unattractive older woman in her upper 40s-ish) ... Townie Lady ... that's better ... Townie Lady accused me of masterminding a plan to steal coats at Kilroy's that had been going on for weeks. "My daughter-in-law had it happen to her two weeks ago!," she said.

A.) You are old enough to have a daughter-in-law although in Indiana I'd have to assume most women over the age of 36 have daughters-in-law.

And B.) Your husband tries to play peacekeeper and has long stringy hair, facial craters, a ponytail, earrings and glasses.

Finally C.) You are wearing an Indiana University Starter jacket.

D.) Back to A.

McGinley got some great lines to her about, "you're being an ass right now" and "you'll regret this in the morning." She wanted to know that I was wearing my jacket. She said, "well what's in your left pocket?"

On the way to Bloomington we stopped and picked up some essentials. I got a 4-ounce bag of Sour Patch Kids, a bag of Troyer Farm Kettle Cooked Potato Chips and orange Gatorade 2. That's G2 not "I got Gatorade too." I also made sure to buy a box of XXL Condoms. I knew I'd need them. I like buying condoms from women in their 70s at gas stations in Small Town, Ind. USA.

I told Townie Lady, "A box of condoms." I then whipped it out (the box of XXL, not the XXL) and raised the box like The Lombardi Trophy.

That sort of ended things.

This was about at 10:30 p.m. on a night of non-stop drinking, shot taking, spread eating that ran from 6 p.m. to 3 a.m. By the end of the night, The Godfather was walking home by himself, The Dr. and I were looking for anyone with a vagina to say hello to while sharing a piece of pizza and McGinley had a box of pizza in the street trying to track down a cab. We got a cab, picked up a despondent Godfather a quarter mile down the road and then broke the record for farts ripped in a hotel room between 3:30 a.m. and noon. Other than McGinley's odd decision to turn the fucking television on at 9:30 a.m., we made zero bad decisions on the weekend.

Wait a second, that's not entirely true.

"I fucking loved that place Ricks! Best place ever," I said.

"You mean, Nick's?" The Godfather asked.

Why'd we leave to go to the pool hall place where I did some shots of SoCo and Lime and this blue shit. McGinley and I almost started a fight there when I was talking to a girl with a boyfriend. It happens.

On Friday night back in Columbus a girl told me (unsolicited) "I love your look."

"That had to make your weekend," The Dr. told me.

"My month."

Riding high, I let it fly at Nick's. Talked to a few different chicks. Girls I knew from back at Ohio State including a 16-year-old (at the time) that I used to buy beers for in exchange for hook-ups with her and her friends. Also saw some work peoples and random Indiana girls on that Indiana night.

"You could have had that," The Dr. said.

Why did we leave Nick's? Nick's had a 50-50 male/female ratio. This isn't scientific but it seemed that way to me. It was huge and neverending. The "bar" had about 16 different rooms and they all were packed with hotass white and Jewish girls.

"If you like Jewish girls and girls with dark hair, IU is for you," that one guy said.

"It's one of the few schools that I actually think I could have gone to," McGinley (an OSU grad) said.

They did play Grey Street by Dave Matthews for at least 19 minutes straight. I thought I had a good mix at Kilroy's.

Time Frame:

4 p.m. to 6 p.m. - Game
6 p.m. to 11:30 p.m. - Kilroy's on Kirkwood
11:30 p.m. to 2 a.m. - Nick's
2 a.m. to close - Fucking terrible upstairs bar with pool table

Kilroy's had two hot bartenders with big tits and short white shorts. One girl had a perma-wedgie exposing her perfect shaped orange-sized butt cheeks. Like the two cheeks looked like oranges covered in tight white shorts. We ordered the following: super nachos; two orders of chicken fingers with fries; 24 wings; pepperoni rolls and something else? We also drank these 32-ounce beers with stunning frequency.

"Let's take over the Illinois Republican Party!" - The Hammer, 9:34 p.m. EST.

The Illinois native then said, "But we'd have to do it after June because I'm going to be busy."

Viva!

The Dr. then said he'd like to run for office. "But I'd have to move to Peoria." He quickly and kindly took back the idea.

The Bum at the beginning of the night that tried to fight me almost isn't even worth discussing. He smelled so bad and got mad I didn't play a song he suggested on the juke box. He then stared at me for at least 45 minutes before getting kicked out. The Godfather said, "We did people try to get into fights with us? There are hippies in San Francisco that think we're pussies."

To be continued ... I have a lunch thing and will be posting Part II in the afternoon. Much more to tell.

Ohio State 67, Notre Dame 62

It seems like the Ohio State basketball team takes awhile to get warmed up.

They start each game with the pass-it-around-the-3-point-line-for-30-seconds-and-then-take-and-miss-a-bad-shot offense before settling into a groove and wearing teams down with defensive pressure, athleticism and decent depth. They'll have a good years before losing in the first or second round of the NCAA tournament. But they're enjoyable to watch. Even though we know they're going to flame out, we'll still watch and support.

About midnight on Saturday night came our flame out.

Anticipating a crazy, hanging-from-the-rafters-type evening, we went to a basketball game, had a sit down dinner, went to a bar with seven people in it before heading to a couple of others bars before half our posse houdini'd and left The Godfather and I at the bar. Guess it was time to leave. This came at about 12:07 a.m. when the bar started to fill up, there was about a 50-50 male/female split and we'd never have to worry about seeing any of those people ever again. I also had been drinking heavily and had the quickest buzzkill in Hoosier State history.

I had heard some legendary stories of road trips to Indianapolis.

My New Year's (starting today) Resolution is to never houdini. It kills evenings. I mean, I know it doesn't all the time but still.

That's the thing with expectations. Very rarely do you have a hanging-from-the-rafters-type evening. But I thought Saturday would make it happen.

Great time at the Ohio State-Notre Dame. We were exactly the dicks you thought we'd be to Notre Dame fans. We had amazing fucking seats. I liked Lucas Oil Stadium and the game was wildly entertaining, Ohio State led most of the way and I had a 96-ounce lemonade in a souvenir container.

Enjoyed the drive to and from the game. We talked about Facebook a lot. I made some tweets on other occurrences but not currencies (foreign or otherwise). Props to McGinley and The Godfather (the liberal who said that college professors are responsible for jump-starting a state's economy) for providing the plans and the wheels.

Little did I know I'd have the most crazy fun Friday night at BAR LOUIE'S which still sucks and what not but had a good high top, talked to chicks and tried to go drink-for-drink, shot-for-shot with Logan Mankins Jr. (Wyoming Guy). Not a good move. I think Wyoming Guy is like 6-foot-5, 300 pounds and has a beard or something. I don't know if he actually has a beard but when I think back to the month he was around Columbus, I'll remember the (supposed) beard.

The Little Bar saved this NFL season. I look forward to Sundays again. Leodis! (Lee-otis.) Sometimes on the German Village Media Family of Networks (GVMFoN) we say something and you're all like, "what the fuck are they talking about?" Leodis is a defensive back on the Buffalo Bills. Bills fans always yell his first name so we do too. Leeeeeeottttttis.

Crazy Steelers Guy from a few weeks back was in the building and I told The Godfather, "he's out-Bills-fans-ing the Bills fans!" He is insane. He did four consecutive upper-cut fist pumps (alternating hands ... from a crouching position) while yelling "whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo." I can't wait for next Sunday. Hot, friendly bartender (I think The Godfather and myself nearly proposed), hilarious owner-type-dude that live wagers on Internet gambling sites, a Canadian guy that progressively got more and more chatty and drunk (we never knew his name) and the bartender's heaven-sent-ass. Plus Bills fan. I've now named the four Bills fans:

1. Marshawn - The leader. Works at OSU hospital and gets real drunk on Sundays. Don't get sick on Mondays.
2. Whitner - Quiet guy. Doesn't drink.
3. Beard - Yells a lot has a rocking huge beard.
4. Edwards - Most negative fan. Hates Derrick Dockery and once said ... "The Bills have two players. Leodis and Marshawn."

The 1 got their early and we sat at the bar (great move). We made friends and hung out there for about four hours. I could have stayed longer but the bartender's shift was up which prompted us to ask, "so what are good nights of the week here ... that you work?"

We'll be watching the Fiesta Bowl there and maybe New Years Eveing it. She works a lot of jobs.

Got home and started to drink at nine. Fell asleep at 1 a.m.

I'm heading over to the trendys for "Gossip Girl" tonight.

I really thought I had a chance to date the girl I've currently been seeing for more than six weeks (a record for me since moving to the German Village) but about five weeks in ... that's about over. She's all the sudden "studying" a lot more and "passing out at 1." Remember that time you chose studying over hanging out with someone you wanted to see? I haven't seen her since this past Tuesday and look forward to asking her out (and being denied) two more times. I mean seriously. Why not just say, "look, you're fun to talk to but I am not going to hang out with you again." Would it be that hard?

It's like with Dorothy from Halloween. I flat out told her: "You live in Cleveland. I liked hanging out with you so I'm not going to lead you on." It took about four seconds. WTF.

I bet that you love reading this shit.

Happy fucking Monday.

- From the desk of Art McGregor

Ohio State 45, Northwestern 10

By ART MCGREGOR
Blog on the Run editor

Usually I try to throw out an anecdote from the weekend when recapping the previous four nights. Sometimes it ties together with the rest of the piece, other times it has no bearing or meaning on anything whatsoever.

Too many such examples happened from Thursday, Nov. 6, 2008 through last night.

If I had to pick one, I'd have to pick when The Godfather got lost in the moment singing "Sweet Child of Mine" or My Cousin Kevin (MCK) and his ill-fated plan to get home to Youngstown or The Dr.'s telling his girlfriend (she's a girlfriend) that she's "getting an up-close and personal look on what makes us awesome" or our singing on the train headed back to Wrigleyville on Saturday night or when The Dr.'s girlfriend called him "baby" and we heard her call him "baby" or how every girl in The Only Bar in Evanston went by the name of Emily.

Still, I'm going with two. OK, three.

1. The "Live Your Life" moment at Merkle's.
2. The Godfather's insistence that we check out The Only Bar in Evanston, despite other intel reports.
3. The "I love college football (me too!)" moment.

We got to Cleveland on Thursday night after much consternation. The Godfather and I must have said "nothing is ever easy with him" about 400 times. We got to Mathlete's house (The Godfather's brother) and then walked over to Panini's on West Sixth. Had a few beers and The Godfather and Mathlete went to the game. I stayed behind to drink. Dorothy from Halloween met me and we proceeded to have beers for the next three hours watching the game. I watched far more of the game than her. (Me - All the plays, Her - None of the plays.) Obviously the Browns lost a huge lead and the game and not-so-obviously, MCK decided to meet us in Cleveland. He's another member of the "nothing is ever easy" crowd. He was supposed to meet us in Cleveland at noon on Friday. Instead, he meets us at the bar with his luggage (at the bar) and is looking for his buddy (he was to stay the night with him). Said friend then informs MCK that he's headed back to Youngstown. MCK has no place to stay and ends up at Mathlete's with us. I'd join later.

After the game, The Godfather walked into Panini's with the pissed-off-the-Browns-just-loss face and seemed ready to go home fuck that. He had a beer and spirits (while being drank) improved. He then met Dorothy from Halloween (who went to the same high school as The Godfather). She didn't recognize him. This brought much delight to Mathlete who said, "she's the first person who doesn't know him!" The Godfather claimed she was lying and that she did know him. He then hated on her the rest of the night (behind her back, when she wasn't around). We all had a fun time and some chick in a William Green jersey (with perhaps fake tits perhaps) hung out with us and joined Mathlete and the rest back at his apartment. This girl was someone's cousin. Glad she wasn't mine because you're not supposed to want to bang your own cousin. That's like the 14th amendment so says Moses and Exodus and the prophet Ezekial (What's up religion class!). Due process like what.

I am the biggest Browns, Cavs and Indians fan in the world but I fucking hate Cleveland. I almost made it the entire year of 2008 without going to that Obama-forsaken town. I know a couple attractive girls from Cleveland but ... it's just ... what is the deal? Even when they're wearing jerseys, the girls still look hit. I shouldn't call out the beer tub girl at Panini's because she's an actual human being with feelings and it's mean.

I walked Dorothy back to Kansas and joined the crew at Mathlete's house at about 3:30 a.m. They were eating pizza and playing rap music. I think some mildly unattractive (but not ugly) chick in a Brady Quinn jersey made out with MCK for 11 seconds. I went to bed. Mathlete offered me his bed. I accepted. His brother slept on the floor or couch.

"He did it to spite him," I said.

"Fact," Mathlete said the next morning.

We then drove to South Bend, Ind. for a hamburger at CJ's. The guy working the bar (tough looking Midwestern) brought three packs of smokes with him to work. Three. Cigarettes in Chicago are like $8 a pack. Hamburger was tasty.

Made it to Chicago after I played a great mix on The Godfather's iPod. We were fucking rocking during "Sweet Child of Mine." The Godfather was entirely lost in the moment and for a second I think he thought he was Axl Rose. It was hilarious. I let him have that moment.

Went out with The Dr. to Mickey's. Had 11 beers for the $25 all-you-can-drink 8 p.m. to 11 p.m. price. Saw many a fine bitches including this super hot Italian girl who I see out in Columbus from time to time. Chicago brings it. We basically just drank, watched basketball highlights and talked to friends of McCampus. Got home around 1:30 a.m., watched "The Office" and went to sleep.

It began.

I forgot to wear my jacket to the Ohio State game. I froze. It took forever to get there. The trains were packed. I had a hot chocolate and popcorn that blew all over the place. I also had some sausage before leaving. We sat near a New Yorker who rooted for Northwestern.

We began telling everyone Terrelle Pryor's nickname is "King Black."

It began again.

We walked over to The Only Bar in Evanston following the game. The Hammer told us that the bar was "packed" with "wall to wall" people and that we'd never get in. We seemed resigned to a boring afternoon of pizza, naps and maybe a lame attempt at going out. I was real pleased. The Godfather saved the day saying, "I want to see it with my own eyes. I don't want to make the same mistake President Bush made in 2002 by approving intel he didn't see with his own two eyes." We then went to the bar and did exactly what you expect. Yelled things. The Godfather made friends with strangers. I talked to random hotties (all named Emily) and The Dr.'s girlfriend called him "baby." Penn State lost. Obviously we were the last Ohio State people there come 8 p.m. (ET) and normal people started coming into the "restaurant." We boarded a train and sang songs for about 20 minutes to the delight of all passengers except an old black couple who probably dismissed us as "honkeys." The Godfather took requests and I'm sure his rendition of "Living on a Prayer" is on YouTube somewhere.

We all were pretty wasted at 8:30 p.m. after 6.5 hours of heaving drinking but we went to Wrigleyville and some random bar where a cougar (with husband) attacked Smiles. Smiles let me wear his jacket which was awesome. We then went to Merkles (an Iowa bar!).

Just saw so many random hotties wearing T-shirts from Big Ten schools and a drunk McCampus and crew. I talked to a girl with a Michigan State T-shirt. Pretty much blinders for two hours.

Then it happened.

They played T.I./Rihanna "Live Your Life" about three times and it got awesomer every time. That officially is the song of 2008 taking over "Whatever You Like."

I didn't do this recap justice.

The Dr.'s girlfriend got an up-close and personal look on what makes us awesome.

USC 35, Oh** St*t* 3

By ART MCGREGOR
Blog on the Run editor

What a pisser.

I've made a few mistakes. Like today. And I've only been up since 9 a.m. No power in my office! Whoot. Whoot. OK, OK ... here's a third WHOOT.

Now take those mistakes and ... you get the point. An exponential amount of mistakes Arthur C. McGregor has piled up through the years. Even when I tell people I'm 26. That's still a lot of years.

With a toe in the Pacific Ocean on Friday morning, I felt grounded. I made a mistake. I should have lived in California at some point.

Felt at home. My dad noticed and said as much. He told me, "you should live out here. You'd fit in."

It's simple. It's more laid back. I don't know how to quantify that but being in Hermosa Beach and Newport Beach (RIP Marissa Cooper) and Manhattan Beach, I felt good. The weather is perfect. People kind of drift around. No one seems in a hurry to do anything. Everyone seems happy. There's no clocks anywhere. It's never too warm. It's never too cold. I made a mistake.

So did Ohio State. They god damn sucked on Saturday night. I'm sure you've heard by now. No need to go further.

Fuck USC fans. Yes, there are tons of good ones ... and the fans tailgating (for the most part) were amazingly nice. And every girl with a "THETA '08" T-shirt was just amazing. I made sure to yell at most of them.

The tailgate was awesome. Much like what you see in movies. Makes sense being that the game was in L.A. Also, it's like what it'd be like if people could tailgate on the oval. Tons of mini tents and grills, walkways, footballs being passed around. The band and Song Girls marching around. Um. Heaven. Me and The Dr. (and Hammer) loved it. We ate at least 600 pieces of chicken that our boy Vinnie made for us. No utensils either. We had to look hot. About 13 beers deep, eating grilled chicken (on the bone) with our fingers. No napkins.

Also, NO open container rules. You could pretty much just drink wherever. Didn't see Utah or The Mayor. Saw TR O'Bannon and his former flame. The flame showed up at his tailgate? (Cheap Trick?)

God, I'm good.

Fans at the game were ASSHOLES. When they come to Ohio next year, no mercy. Treat every one of them (about 12 will travel) with complete hatred. We owe them nothing. They rubbed it in as worse as I've ever heard. I went to a Browns-Steelers playoff game in '03 and the Steeler fans weren't that bad.

I wish I had more trips like that with my dad. That's the awesome part. We had a great time. Other than the USC girls, the best part of the trip.

Tons of Buckeyes made the trip out there. We represented. At least off the field.

Will I ever go to a road game? Yes. I love it. Even if we lost, it was still awesome being there and seeing something new. The Dr. and I ogled and bullshitted (spelling?) with hotties for seven or eight hours pre-game. We made fun of people, yelled at people and made new friends. We combined to buy 90 beers at a combined price of around $90. We drank about 60 of them between the three of us.

The Browns blew on Sunday but what else is new. I told you they had a ZERO PERCENT chance of winning. I have NEVER missed when I said ZERO PERCENT chance of winning. LISTEN TO ME PEOPLE. A Cleveland team will NEVER win anything. NEVER.

Watched most of the NFL on Sunday at a bar called GRUNIONS. Legit had some Internet porn chicks in there with big dudes that look like Billy Walsh from "Entourage" only with crazy mustaches and bigger.

4.5 stars out of five for the trip.

Can't wait for 11.8.08. (Northwestern trip.)

Tuesday afternoon mailbag III

Welcome to Blog on the Run's third Tuesday afternoon mailbag. Here I'll answer questions from readers and non-readers about the week that was and anything else that might come across my mailbag.

Q: You usually love something (The Patio) or hate something (Lindey's Patio). But you seem indifferent on Chicago. Love or hate? - Donna, Beverly Hills

A: It's not a matter of love and hate with that city. I'm kind of disappointed I didn't spend more time there in my 20s. But I'm happy I don't live there. If I had to do it all over again, I'd spend two Saturdays per summer in the Second City going to Cubs games. I just loved it. There was a point when The Doctor wanted to go home to take a nap. I wasn't leaving. I'm a firm believer that if you're somewhere that's fun, you should never leave. That's why I don't like "starting nights at 185." If you know you're eventually leaving, there's little fun that can happen. I like to wear out my welcome. I just don't ever want to voluntarily leave somewhere to do something "later." I say "go on, go all out, go nowhere." That's sort of my motto when going out.

But I couldn't live there. I'm really happy in a city the size of Columbus. I think I could live in any city outside the five largest in the United States, and of course, Baltimore.

Fuck Baltimore.

Q: Feelings on unsigned comments? - Brenda, Minneapolis, Minn.

A: Not a huge deal. If the person can't sign their name to it, they just like sucking cock. I mean, they're not gay or anything but they enjoy sucking cock. There's a difference.

Q: I've heard of falling in love with a stripper, which I'm sure you have, but you fell in love with an electrician in Chicago? - Dylan, Tijuana

A: Yes. I did. I couldn't believe she was an electrician. Hottest one ever. She probably was 24 or 25 years old. I was standing at the Cubby Bear with my cousin Jamie when he said, "that chick keeps looking over at you." I walked over to her and talked to her one-on-one for about 30 minutes (I turned my blinders on) and then off-and-on for about an hour. The Godfather had a dance-off with her electrician/ballerina friend who kept taking her shoes off.

I don't fall in love easily. But this girl had it all. The entire package. (In case you didn't know what "had it all" meant.) Now I'd say there have been five girls in my life that I've actually had real strong feelings for, well, The Electrician makes No. 6. I can't imagine being more into another girl before 2009.

Q: The Godfather is going out of town this weekend. Are you sad? - Brandon, Boston on a summer internship

A: Yes. Very. But it comes at a good time. We've got a lot of time to spend together until Christmas. He's gone this weekend, but following that, we'll likely spend every weekend together until December. I'm sure he cringes at that thought.

We've got our last Friday Guyday of the season (pending McCampus' OK) on Friday, August 15. And then it's a wedding and 12 Buckeyes games, maybe a trip to Vegas, and fuckin' fun times until Christmas.

I guess I can just add him to The 1 (I USED TO KNOW) and McCampus as people I won't be hanging out with this weekend.

Q: Is The 1 dead? - Mrs. Walsh, California University

A: I haven't seen The 1 (I USED TO KNOW) since Saturday, June 28. I have sent him maybe two or three texts since then with nary a response. I know The Godfather sent him a text on Thursday but he didn't respond to that one either. He's apparently gone into the "mistertrendy-when-I-start-dating-someone-I-stop-hanging-out-with-friends" mode. It's sad and I hope we see him a few times in August before NFL season starts.

- From the desk of Art McGregor

The Electrician

'Twas a wee bit of lost in translation. "It's a sports bar," The Godfather said.

I've got to admit. There was a time when we looked at the menu at Ditka's around midnight on Friday night (ET) and steaks were about $45 and I thought, "it'd be so much easier to be at The Patio right now."

This weekend's trip to Chicago got off to a great start. We made excellent time to Chicago. Less than six hours. Zero traffic in Chicago. Left at 1:56 p.m., got there around 6:45 p.m. (central time). We made one stop. Going with the trendys, the trip would have taken eight hours. They like to stop. If mistertrendy feels like he might have to piss within the next three hours, he stops. On the way home, I held a piss for four hours. trendy would have gone five times in that span.

One note about traveling with The Godfather, don't ever tell him "we're making great time" or else he'll scream at you and remind you it's bad luck. He did a great job negotiating traffic and in the end, we made great time.

Arrived at The Doctor's place and had some tostitos. Great salsa. Went over to The Godfather's friend's place in downtown. HUGE building. Nice apartment. I was lobbying hard for "dinner for two" (just The Godfather and this chick) and would rather have ate at Crust, this vegan hippie place or whatever near The Doctor's apartment. Turns out the girl was really nice and fun to talk to. So, we go to Ditka's, The Doctor meets up with us and all the menu items are like 80 bucks. Um. Sign me up for the $9.99 chicken finger dinner. We enjoy dinner and our waiter, Carlos, will be joining us for Thanksgiving dinner in Youngstown. Next, we go to a Chicago club named English. Not by the choice of me or The Doctor. It was just sorta blah, The Doctor and I talked about the upcoming Cubs game and then went home. Maybe half a thumb up for Chicago Friday night.

Everythingchanged (homage to The Doctor's CHANGESONEBOWIE poster) on Saturday morning. The Doctor's brother, Jager Bombs, shows up. It's a shock to me that the Truth's nickname is not Jager Bombs, but he usually just wants to "bomb it up" and rarely calls them Jager Bombs.

Driving home Sunday with The Godfather I commented about Jager Bombs, "he just has a face that makes you laugh."

We left The Doctor's compound (49 steps up and down to his apartment) at about 10 a.m. (CT) and as soon as we got outside, Jager Bombs says "I can't wait to start drinking." After a great breakfast at Moonshine, we did just that. Got to Wrigley and just drank. Didn't slow down until 12:42 a.m. That's when we fell asleep. I think.

I can't do a trip there justice. All's I can say is that I missed out. I'm ashamed that I waited until I was 29 to do a Cubs game. I'm sure most of the readers have experienced it, but a Saturday game at Wrigley in the summer is just like an OSU game. Bars afterward, before, chicks, making out, all that fun stuff. I also fell in love with a girl that doubles as an electrician. Like that's her job. After talking to her for about an hour, she left and I ended up making out with a chick that may be a tranny. I don't know. I just pretended she was the other girl.

Other things happened. It was just so much fucking fun. I am leaving so much shit out that I'll probably eventually get to.

Like I said, I can't do Saturday justice. It was a lot like 1980s hair metal. Loud, fast, didn't make a lot of sense ... totally fucking fun.

- From the desk of Art McGregor

Monday morning Nickelback

The quintessential drunk moment this summer came at Scores in Las Vegas. One of the prettiest girls I've ever met once worked at Scores in New York. As a coatcheck girl. So yes, this place had some talent NOT taking your coat.

It had been a lifelong goal of mine to get a lapdance to the song "Ayo Technology." Something special. 50 Cent. Justin. Well, it wasn't the best song I heard that evening. On the giant video board, while some chick from New York (not the TV show or the coatcheck girl) grinded up on me, Nickelback's "Rockstar" blared. I actually had this thought:

"I fucking love this song."

Yes, I was pretty wasted. Well, this weekend blew that away. I may have a drinking problem. It's actually an eating problem. Probably both. When you're throwing back a diet of 400 to 700 calories a day, you tend to get pretty wasted on 11 or 12 beers.

Saturday night's trip to the Patio was one of the all-time besties. While McCampus was busy adding friends on Facebook, I met up with a buddy from work and his brother. Now, this kid knew everyone at the bar. It was an odd thing at the Patio for myself, despite me going there twice a week. I usually run into four or five people that I know there on a Friday night. Six or seven on a Saturday. This kid knew at least 60 people there. We did shots, we talked to randoms, we stayed 'til close (odd) and I never saw the Truth. This was odd considering me and the Truth made plans earlier in the evening. But you see, My Boy Whit was down in the German Village and the Truth's meeting us at 9:30 p.m., 10:45 p.m., midnight! and later never came to fruition. Taking the spot of the Truth was every hot chick in Columbus.

I went home and didn't pee on anyone or anything. That's a good thing. Disappointed I didn't see the Truth or My Boy Whit at Patio but my summer roomie, Miss July probably isn't disappointed she didn't see My Boy Whit. I think I could pee on her for 40 nights in a row (Noah-the-arc style) and I'd still rank above My Boy Whit in Miss July's Favorite People Rankings.

I was up until 6:15 a.m. last night in one of the worst nights EVAR. The Godfather and I bitched yesterday that July never is going to end. Sad truth is that there are 22 work days in July 2008. To put it in perspective, November 2008 only has 18. It's a motherfucker. I've long argued July is the worst month of the year, ahead of February because it has 31 days, and this year, we're feeling the influence of those extra days.

Why was I up that late? Not a clue.

Props to McCampus for hosting Friday Guyday on Friday evening. Before heading to the Patio, I chilled at the 813 (McCampus' house) for about 3.5 hours, drinking my six beers and taking off. Despite pleas from everyone in attendance, NJAG (aka 'B') didn't make it over there. Walked back over there in the morning and mocked him for painting his house on a Saturday. After moving one box and eating tons of chips practically moving him into the place back in May 2007, I didn't feel like I had to help out with the painting. Like a Jackson Pollock. Would have loved to have made like Jackson Pollock on some ladies at the Patio on Saturday night. Sadly for this Patty, it was a no.

I loved mistertrendy's column on the Tour de Beers. It was the highlight of an otherwise LAME Sunday afternoon. I watched a movie, which I'll touch on later today.

Easy week at work and a fun weekend. I'm off Wednesday and Friday and heading to Chicago on Friday with The Godfather to visit GVM Chicago Bureau chief The Dr. I love that we're going to a Cubs game on Saturday and none of us really like the Cubs. But I've never been to Wrigley, so I am pumped.

- Compiled by Art McGregor

Setting evolution back

What's up with states?

There's no rhyme or reason when it comes to the drawing of state lines. For example, you cannot escape the state of West Virginia. It's impossible. It never ends. All the maps are fucking wrong. Let's say you're driving down to Fredericksburg (not of Hollywood), Virginia on some mysterious back country roads that Garmin tells you to follow. Every 19 seconds you're going to be heading back into West Virginia. Now, that's not as often as mistertrendy needs to stop to take a piss (seven stops in a 15-hour roundtrip), but it's quite often.

But no one wants to hear about geography or mistertrendy's bladder the size of a penny. Fact is, I don't know how big a bladder even is. Whatever. I didn't major in math. It actually could be the size of the penny. Or smaller. Like a dime.

Speaking of dimes and bladders, let's get to the real issue at hand. Or in my hands, in this case.

"The Great Roommate Urination of '08"

By ART MCGREGOR
Blog on the Run editor

Nothing will top this moment. We could win the lottery or stop a four-gun stick-up when we go see "The Dark Knight" later this evening. Whenever Miss July's friends or pals (whoever they may be) ask her about her summer, she always will reply:

"Well, my roommate peed on me."

I remember taking the piss. I remember her waking up. I remember that's about it. At about 4:30 a.m. on Friday morning, I walked into Miss July's room, lifted up her blanket and began to pee on her feet.

"At least it's sterile and not vomit or shit, right? I don't think many people can say they've been pissed on by their roommate ... literally." - text from Miss July, 7-18-08

Who does that? I've had thousands of boozing nights and only about four times have I let go with a random piss in a closet, on a computer, in a dresser or on a roommate. That's about the same odds as my buddy The 1 following up on a "I'll text you later and meet up with you." Geesh. With how often I see that guy, you'd think I pissed on him.

I woke up Friday afternoon and laughed about the incident with The Sports Writer and his buddy. Speaking of. You know how when a friend visits you and brings someone else, they're usually very lame? Not this guy. Super nice guy, funny, knew about sports, was into being stupid. +1 for that guy. Now while I laughed about it with my friends from out of town, I didn't laugh about it with Miss July. I was fully expecting retribution of some sort when she got home from work. With all the midwest flooding, we really didn't need any more golden showering. Sunny skies are OK with me.

Isn't that always the case? I took the day off and the person pissed on still had to go to work.

She came home and we laughed about it and that made her the greatest sport of all-time. I also think the present The Sports Writer left for her helped with the laughter ... and then some more laughter.

I cleaned up, did some serious laundering, got her a bottle of wine from the place on South Third Street (I kept the Swedish Fish to myself) and hoped she wouldn't rip my head off.

Not that I'd need it the next time I decided to piss on a roommate.

Who's fuckin' the ugly chick?

BY DR. WILLY LOMAN
Blog on the Run senior writer

YAKIMA, Wash. - Just a three-day holiday weekend away from the cross-country drive, and the Es-Cape (French for poor gas mileage) is ready to roll. Wine Snob joins me for the trip east and wants to see “the shit that lies between New York and L.A. ” He’s a strong asset since his occupation, wine maker, is about a six on the wet-panty scale (somewhere between “I’m in a band you’ve never heard of” and “I’m in medical school right now.”) Any chick drinking wine in our vicinity will deal with him dropping phrases like “what’s the vintner on that?” and “you should really try this wine, made it myself.” (If restaurants/bars serve Washington wine, he’s golden.)

Wine Snob doesn’t understand the Midwest (or the Great Lakes Region if you’re a tool), so I’m anticipating some interesting reactions. He expects to spy at least three tornadoes and have a cow fly over the Es-Cape during this trek. For some reason people all across the country think tornadoes are a daily occurrence in Ohio. They also deem me crazy for wanting to live somewhere with (GASP!) humidity. All of their stories start with, “I got off the plane and just couldn’t breathe! I don’t know how anyone gets anything done out there.”

My reply is simple to Washington snobs: “How many presidents are from Washington? Thanks for the shitty coffee, though. Those stands provide a place for guys to do the first-date interview and get out relatively cheap without appearing chincy.” (How is chincy not a word and ginormous is?)

Fucking Washington. There are a lot of assholes in this state who think they’ve got it all figured out. One thing I do expect to hear from Wine Snob during our journey is this: “You’re right, Columbus is better than Seattle.”

Here are some other great expectations:

1) Woo Miss July.

2) Complain to park ranger at Mt. Rushmore: “Why the fuck isn’t Reagan on there?”

3) Confuse berated park ranger further: “And where the hell is Bill Clinton?”

4) Utter the phrase: “Fucking South Dakota.”

5) Laugh when Yo Adrians yells “Who’s fucking the ugly guy?” at a group of Wisconsin co-eds.

6) Think “Boozing in Bozeman” is hilarious.

7) Say “Fuck Notre Dame” while having sexual relations with Tits McGee (recent ND grad).

8) Pop Dre, take sip, shatter bottle.

9) Hear “nice hair” from AMG

10) Say “Is that Kanye?” anytime a black person passes by in Chicago.

This article was penned on Thursday, July 3.

Cross-country malarkey

BY DR. WILLY LOMAN
Blog on the Run senior writer

YAKIMA, Wash. - Hello? Testing, one, two, three. Is this blog on? By the looks of the comment section it isn’t.

The great Art McGregor asked me to write for this online rag. Who could turn down a chance to spew screed for the German Village Media Family of Blogs? At least anything I post is better than that Sports Writer guy. Get a haircut and a real job you hippie!

Thursdays I’m supposed to put on my scribe suspenders and write something. I tend to be thirsty on those days, and alcohol rarely helps me remember deadlines. AMG used to threaten my job when I didn’t do stories for him; now his only power is snarky text messages comparing me to athletes or political figures who let him down.

He’s good at those: “Don’t Danny Ferry me today,” is a lame attempt from me.

Sporadic will best describe me since I’m about to start a cross-country journey and a new job at Fossil Publishing writing newspaper articles. Seth is coming out here for my going-away bash at Yakima’s trendiest night club, Victoria Continental, and just dropped off a complementary bucket of women on his way across I-90. He said something about a retirement party for a guy named Bill in Seattle.

Once he’s done with that malarkey, the real adventure starts July 8 with Wine Snob in the navigator chair. There’s scheduled stops in Bozeman, Mont., to pay my respects to “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.” Then our crew begins the great crossing of North Dakota before reaching Chicago for a few days. (Seth says he met Kanye at the Super Bowl.)

If nobody dies from dysentery, the oxen hold up and I avoid fording too many rivers, we should arrive in C-Bus around July 16-18ish.

Jose Canseco was supposed to meet up with me and AMG for a reunion but just bailed. Our triumvirate ruled Fogarty’s on football Sundays in Key West, but lately he’s been busy. His lame text-message excuse was accepted the moment I heard the UPS man ring the doorbell.

"A-Rod is being a bitch again, so I’m hitting another book out of the park. My fault. See you, AMG and The Godfather on your cross-country tour stop in C-Bus. The 40-40 club is my goal for the night. The bottle of 'Dre on the table is from me."

Cheers.