Krishni Returns Today

And let my liver be the 1st to say, "Thank you!"

Nah, just kidding.  While I did get a bit messed up on one or two nights, it was actually a pretty relaxing 10 days for me.  There were several nights where I was tucked neatly into bed before 10pm.  I really only pushed myself to the limit the day of my court hearing and even then, I was passed out by such a reasonable hour that I woke up fresh as a drunken daisy the next morning. 

As you may or may not recall, I had a few goals for my bachelorhood week.  Let's see how I did:

Walking a mile.  Total.
I may have walked more than a mile.  There is no way of knowing but I will say that I probably dropped more on cabs than I'm used to spending.  I'll count this as a win for me and a loss for exercise. 
Pizza.  Lots of it.
You know, Brad and I got a pizza the 2nd night Krishni was gone and I never ordered it again.  Granted, it was a mondo Art of Pizza pizza* and I ate off of it for the next few days but still.  Dominos surprisingly didn't get a dime of my money and I am pretty sure I can throw an empty beer can from my couch and hit the store. 
Movies.  Bad ones.
My short list:  Jennifer's Body (loved it), Predators (probably not good if you're sober), Cool Runnings (ditto), Futurama's Bender's Big Score and Bender's Game, Grown Ups (laughed harder than I ever thought I would at this movie.  I still think Kevin James sucks, though), The Hot Chick (yeah.  This one was not good) and Waterworld.  Because it never gets old. 
Drinking.  Heavily.
Had a fantastic boys night out on Friday night and the last drink I ordered was a "bourbon and orange juice".  Let's just say the conversation and camaraderie was better than that last drink. 
Porn.  Lots of it.
This was my next day.  All day.   
Sportscenter.  On a constant loop.
I was tremendously annoyed that PTI wasn't on all week.  Damn it. 
Baseball.  Picture-in-picture with Sportscenter. 
The friggin' Sox.  Just when I left them for dead they run off a 6 game win streak just to get my slim hopes pumped up before they punch my optimistic ass right in the head.  College football, why won't you get here faster?!
Tacos.  Lots of them. 
I ate the hell out of some tacos when Mel came over to watch the season finale of Supernatural (you know, the one that aired, like, 4 months ago?  Thank you DVR).  And my wife will be happy to know, all tacos came with actual vegetables in addition to copious amounts of fat, sodium and cholesterol. 
Mario.  In all incarnations.
I did, in fact, beat Mario Wii again while she was gone.  I guess what I'm saying is I did accomplish something. 
Pants.  Not gonna wear 'em.
Wait!  Clearly I accomplished two things!

So, it was a pretty good week but I'm glad that it ends tonight upon my gorgeous wife's triumphant return.  Fortunately, my bachelorhood isn't totally dead...she's returning just in time for football season!  Notre Dame kicks off on Saturday!  Woot woot!  Get your green on, babe!

I am truly living the dream**.

*if you are not familiar with the Art of Pizza, it is this FANTASTIC stuffed-pizza joint on Ashland Ave here in the city.  Folks, I've eaten a lot of pizza in my day.  Far more than you.  And I have never in my life eaten better pizza than the Art of Pizza.  Trust me.  Order today. 

**I am allowed to watch the game on Saturday, right Krishni?  Right?  Krishni?  I love you!

The Novelty is Gone!

My wife flew out of town for 10 days on Monday.  That evening, I drank entirely too much whiskey and ate dinner from an On-core! Veal Parmagiana.

I'll be the 1st to admit it.  Ew. 

Tuesday night, I shared an early dinner with Brad then kicked back, had a little bit of wine and watched a couple of movies.  It was fun.

Wednesday night?  Well, I got home from work and just kind of stood in the front room of my condo.  I looked around, mulled my options as far as Nintendo goes, and realized I was already bored to tears.

Who knew?  I missed my wife!

Obviously, I'm kidding about my surprise.  But I honestly thought the novelty of being a bachelor again would last longer.  Apparently, the extent that I like to be a nouveau bachelor is exactly 48 hours.  Also apparently, I'm pretty boring and kinda needy. 

Who knew?  Probably all of you.

Aaaaaaaaand this is why America is fat...

I walked downstairs to the grocery store in my building for lunch.  In the deli line, a very, very large woman was explaining why she hates Royal Carrebean Cruise Line:

"They don't have enough food."

I don't know if any of you have ever been on a cruise before but all you freakin' do is eat.  They have midnight buffets dedicated to chocolate!  They have between 4-8 restaurants for your choosing pleasure!  Room service is free!

Sigh. 

Oh no!

I don't often link to celebrity deaths but Jerry Leiber died yesterday.  He--along with his writing partner, Mike Stoller--wrote a ridiculous amount of songs that are about to be stuck in your head.

My super-awesome, intelligent and sexy wife is out of town...

...Here is what I plan on doing for the next 10 days:

Walking a mile.  Total.
Pizza.  Lots of it.
Movies.  Bad ones.
Drinking.  Heavily.
Porn.  Lots of it.
Sportscenter.  On a constant loop.
Baseball.  Picture-in-picture with Sportscenter. 
Tacos.  Lots of them. 
Mario.  In all incarnations.
Pants.  Not gonna wear 'em.

The final word on the Memorial

Those that were there that morning know that when I thanked Benet for offering the space and putting on a truly kick-ass memorial, I took a few pictures of the crowd from my iPhone before I began my speech.  The pictures didn't turn out so well--I was a bit nervous and my hands were shaking--but here they are nonetheless:

At the very least, it gives you a good idea of what the crowd looked like, if you couldn't make it.  What you can't see is that every person in the room was laughing hysterically and throwing bundles of money at me.  The priests collected it all but I haven't yet seen any of that cash.  Should I call someone about that?

***************

Finally, below you will find the text of the poem I read.  It really is a nice poem with a nice sentiment but every time I read it, I can't help but think that the narrator is a total dick.  Christ, dude...let it lie!  She still counts her dead brother as her brother!  And why are you badgering this little girl in the first place?  Did you just step out of your windowless van and strike up a conversation? 

I want answers!

Anyhow, this poem is special to my family because about ten years ago, my parents returned from Mexico with a little stone totem of seven figures, arms intertwined, that doubles as a candle holder.

Almost exactly like this.

As our family is seven strong (two Parents, five kids), my Father loved the symetry of the thing.  For the last ten years, it has sat before us as we consumed a truly epic amount of champagne.  He calls it, "We are Seven", after the poem listed below.  As the poem discusses, we are clearly still seven, even with my Mother no longer with us.  We will forever be Seven. 

We Are Seven

A simple child...
That lightly draws its breath
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage girl-
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered 'round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air
And she was wildly clad;
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell
And two are gone to sea."

"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother
And in the churchyard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell
And two are gone to sea,
Yet, ye are seven! I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be."

Then did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree."

"You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door
And they are side by side."

"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit
And sing a song to them."

"And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair
I take my little porringer
And eat my supper there."

"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain
And then she went away."

"So in the churchyard she was laid
And, when the grass was dry
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I."

"And when the ground was white with snow
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go
And he lies by her side."

"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little maid's reply,
"O master! We are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'T was throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will
And said... "Nay, we are seven!"

by William Wordsworth, 1798

Sheila's Memorial Service

What can I say?  It was lovely. 

For those not in the know, my Mother worked her tail off a my high school for almost half her life.  She devoted 31 years to Benet Academy and she was never one of those teachers who clocked in at 8am and dashed gleefully out to the parking lot when the bell rang at 2:35pm.  No, she would often arrive before the sun came up and remain long after the halls settled into silence.  Many nights, she would briefly return home for dinner before making the hike back up the hill so she could work crowd control at basketball games or emcee some fund raising event until long after my bedtime.  She was also the party host since our house was 1,000 yards downhill from the Academy.  The interesting nights were after dances.  I would return home after midnight and half the faculty would be drinking in my living room.  Good times.

Really, Sheila was the den mother for both the students and the faculty at Benet.  What she put in she certainly got back over the years and her memorial service in the main gym of Benet Academy was an amazing example of that give and give.  The Benet community rallied together for the event like nothing I had ever seen.

It sounds odd to have what amounts to a funeral--her body was not present--under the harsh lights of a gymnasium, surrounded by flags touting 1st place East Suburban Catholic Conference finishes for our sports teams.  And yet, despite some sound system issues, it felt oddly natural. 

Sheila always wanted bagpipes played at her funeral.  One phone call placed from a Benet Academy board member later, we had Chicago's best pipe band, the Shannon Rovers, walking us into the gym (thanks, Ray!).  The service was a full on Catholic mass complete with lots of standing and sitting.  The celebrant (read:  Head Priest) was Sheila's cousin, Father Bill Watson.  Flanking him were the Benedictine monks I grew up knowing:  Fathers Julian, Jude and Beckett, Brothers Guy and Charles and 3 different Abbots of the monastery across the street. 

The mass was lovely.  The homily was given by Abbot Hugh who did a bang-up job comparing Sheila to Audrey Hepburn.  My nieces and nephews did readings along with my Uncle Tom and most of the family presented the gifts; we tried to get everyone involved.  The family was concerned that the memorial would be too Benet-centric so Diana and I both gave eulogies, after a fashion.  Her's was more traditional--equal parts heartfelt, heartbreaking and funny--and I read the Wordsworth poem, "We are Seven" with a typical Mike Jacklich lead-in. 

But after Sheila, of course, the real story was Benet Academy. 

I pretty much grew up in Martin's Hall.  That was where my Mother kept her office throughout my childhood and high school years so I got to see firsthand how the students, faculty and staff treated her.  She was revered, the queen of the Academy, if there was such a thing. 

When word got out that she was sick, the community rallied together.  Suddenly, all sorts of baked goods and frozen casseroles showed up at our house.  Cards, emails and visits increased with people not only reaching out to my Mother and Father, but to us kids as well.  One anonymous Samaritan sent my folks a cashiers check for $5,000.   

As her body weakened, the administration took a "no questions asked" policy when it came to Mrs. J.  If she needed time off to go downtown to Northwestern Medical, she was free to come and go as needed.  She was encouraged to take a few nights off...Sheila of course didn't listen.  In spring of this school year, when even she knew the end was near, she powered through.  Sure, sometimes she needed help getting to class but there was no shortage of male Benet students who would escort her, giving her an arm on which she could support herself.  Her goal was to make it to graduation.  Weak, she spent the ceremony in her office, but damned if she was not there.

Five weeks later, she was dead. 

Sheila had had cancer for 5 1/2 years by the time she died.  But even 6 months before she was up and around, visiting friends and appeared relatively healthy.  Her decline towards the end was swift and brutal.  Cancer is a sonuvabitch. 

Her condition was hard on her family, of course, but it was also hard on one person especially:  Jim Brown.  Jim was hired a year before my Mother at the Academy as the Dean of Students.  The next year, Sheila was hired as the Assistant Dean of students; at the time, her title was Dean of Women.  Jim and Sheila became fast friends and stayed besties until the end.  Her decline and death was incredibly hard on him.

These last few weeks I've seen a lot of Jim and his wife Linda.  They, along with former Principal and--I now realize--comedian Ernie Stark, spear-headed the day-to-day activities of Operation Sheila.  They were around to bring my Father food and wine and cheer; they organized the faculty to take turns staying with her while my Dad was at work; they sat us down and asked the hard questions that needed answers in regards to her end of life choices; they sent out emails to the faculty and alumni when things turned for the worst; they flooded the house with groceries when she finally did pass when my entire family was in town; they were the ringleaders for the set-up and execution of the Memorial Service at the Academy; they recruited my new favorite faculty member Mike Hand to help Krishni and I print up the programs for the Memorial Service.

In short, they went above and beyond.

Jim's eulogy was amazing.  He stood before a gym full of people and spoke to us, spoke to the alumni, spoke to the teachers up near the alter.  He told us of their beginning, their middle and their end.  He peppered in emails sent to my Mother from students after the email blast went out about her condition.

Most importantly, he stood before us as Sheila's friend.  His words were simultaneously beautiful and tragic.  If this eulogy was not the hardest thing he ever had to do, it had to have been in the top two.

It's funny; growing up at Benet, Sheila was known as the sweet Dean; if you did something wrong and knew it was going to hit the fan, she was the one to seek out.  Jim was known as the Dean to be feared.  He was the no-nonsense, sometimes downright gruff Dean, and I get the feeling now that he enjoyed playing up that image.  These last few weeks, I saw no semblance of that man.

Giving the eulogy, all I saw was a man who missed his friend.  

************

There are not enough words of gratitude I can extend to the Benet Academy family.  Short of having ten kids and paying ten tuitions, I'm not sure I could ever repay them (note to current Principal Stephen Marth:  I will not be having ten kids).  I do know this:  Sheila may be dead, but my bond with these people and this institution is set in bedrock.  My wife likes to tell the story about how I once picked her up to go to the grocery store while wearing Benet Academy sweatpants, a Benet Academy hoodie and a Benet Academy knit hat.  Was I wearing Benet Academy underpants that day?  I guess we'll never know (the answer: no).  Anyhow, if she thinks I was devoted to this place before this summer, she best be prepared.

I might just do all of my shopping this Christmas at the Spirit Store.

The Only 2011 Travelogue You will Require

People often ask me what it's like to work at the Rabbit.  The question most often asked is can I get the questioner free porn.  The answer is, of course, yes.  All you have to do is ask.  The second question I most often hear:  "Are there, like, naked ladies just running around your office?"  That answer is, "Not most of the time."  While there are occasionally scantily clad women in the office--for photo shoots and seasonal parties--I have to crush the fantasies of dudes everywhere when I tell them that this really is just an office.  My cube looks a whole lot like yours.  Only the top of my monitor is graced by one of my all time favorite Onion headlines:

It is my understanding that this is not allowed in many offices. 

Without further ado, welcome to my desk at work:

They say that a person's work space tells an awful lot about said person...by looking at my work area, you'd think I'm a sophomoric sports fan.  Can you even imagine?

From left to right as we travel across my desk:

Are you in one of these photos?  If so, drink!

No work space is complete without a series of photos of the ones you love.  Or the ones you love to drink with, as this case may be.  We have Mel and Panhandle up there sporting some nice bling after winning the Steppenwolf Gala King and Queen.  We have Brad and Nathan drinking beers at a brewery in stinkin' Boston.  We have Hank sporting a theoretical wooded spoon.  We have the last picture of my Godmother I own where she had any real dignity.  The 'Wolf softball team is present along with an underage drinking party on my Parent's back patio back in 1997.  Speaking of underage drinking...there is my sister Peggy contributing to the delinquency of a minor!  Thanks, Peg!   She's a doctor now!

I think it's important to have icons of your own personal heroes:

In that respect, I have a Geoffrey Rush action figure from the Pirates of the Caribbean, complete with sword, pistol and a juicy green apple.  He had a very nice hat a long time ago.  He (I) sadly lost it in the move from one office to the next. 

Speaking of figurines, I also have these happy little fellows that I purchased for $1 from a Michael's after Halloween two years ago:

I guess my shit job could be worse. 

You will also find a little shrine to Matt Groening:

Present and accounted for are all of my favorite Simpson's characters (Sadly, Milhouse had a full glass of ice water spilled on him.  Sniff, sniff) as well as the cast of Futurama.  Only the best show ever for nerds.

Below my cartoon friends, I have a list of dates that the Free Disney Meal plan is available at Walt Disney World.  Sigh.

I'll get back there someday...

Swinging over to the lower right hand corner of my desk, you will find a rather creepy selection of items:

That doll will murder you in your sleep.   It's why the Stormtrooper stoically stands ever vigilant. That, and he's sitting on top of a naked lady. 

I know what you're thinking and the answer is yes: those are, in fact, wind-up hopping lederhosen standing atop my novelty Benet Academy football.  Sharp eyed folks from Steppenwolf Theatre Company will also be able to spot one of those godawful oranges from that one Gala where we were apparently trying to blind our patrons. 

"But Mike," I hear you asking, "What about your gorgeous, super-smart and sexy wife?"  No worries!  She's here too.  With a pirate:

Arrrrrrrrr!

Bonus terrible fact:  the island where this photo was taken was the site of a horrific plane crash that changed the way pilots communicate to each other in cockpits across the world.  In a heavy fog, one pilot said "To hell with that tower!  I'm taking off!" and promptly flew into a taxing jet killing everyone aboard his plane and most folks aboard the other plane.

Whoopsie.

See!  Bonzer T's Home Skillet isn't just about moderately funny observances...it's also about history!

There are two diplomas I'm proud of earning over the course of my young life.  One is for graduating from Benet Academy, my scholastic home away from home.  The other is from the Taco Fu Master Program.  I graduated with honors:

Yeah, University of Tulsa.  You can go to hell.  

To achieve--according to my diploma--"Success in defending all that is taconess", you need to play this absurd game at the Taco Bell website wherein you must defend your plate of nachos supreme from a series of ginormous lucha libre wrestlers.  Seriously.  Try it out right now and print up your certificate so you can be as awesome as me (incidentally, when you go to the Taco Bell website now, there is a link that states "Made with Real Beef lawsuit dropped".  So we have that going for us.)

Posted all over my monitor, you will find a few Onion horoscopes that still make me laugh to this day.  Allow me to reprint them here because, come on, we all need a good laugh:

"While the directors of the Palomar Observatory admit the nebula had an unusual shape, they do not believe you caught God masturbating."

"When times are tough and the world around you seems grim, don't be afraid to turn to religion for a good, hearty laugh."

"Death by firing squad has a certain desolate nobility, but it will be ruined when the inept, drunken Australians fail to hit you above the waist with the first nine volleys."

"Your love of all living creatures will be on display this week when you open the world's first Animal Rescue Steakhouse."

And a new one that came off the calender today!

"Turns out your nightmarish descent into alcoholism and drug abuse will be a lot more fun than expected."

Finally, I wouldn't be a White Sox fan without some sort of way to taunt Cubs fans in the office:

Yeah, that's my 2005 World Series Champion Rally Sock.  Maybe if I started wearing those, Adam Dunn could get a damn hit. 

So that's that.  I realize that technically none of you asked to see what my desk looked like at work.  But that has never really stopped me before when it came to stupid shit like this.  Plus, I'm going to make an effort to blog a bit more seeing how my life has slowed down a bit after a frantic July. 

And not every post can be a winner. 

The only blog better than Bonzer T's...

Is Gods!

Brilliant.  Just brilliant. 

Exhaust, meat and glorious, glorious smashing

I've stated many times over that the number one thing I miss about college is waking up specifically to drink.  In my fraternity days, on the morning of one of our parties, we would wake up at 8am for an event called "Drivers and Donuts".  We would set up for the party that A.M. and eat donuts and drink screwdrivers.  Thus allowing the collegiate overachiever to get drunk twice in one day.  Three times if Rum Fest happened to fall later that afternoon.

I don't often get the opportunity anymore to wake up and pound beverages; Opening Day is my only remaining event that requires morning drinking.  However, I still seek out events where I can--at the very least--drink all day.  Which brings me to this past Saturday's spectacle, the "World Famous Figure 8 Trailer Race" in Rockford, Illinois. 

The trailer race is exactly as it sounds.  Well, not exactly...it's also a demolition derby.  What it boils down to is an all day event at the Rockford Speedway but most of the day is a series of short-track, NASCAR-style races.  We tend to wait until the last possible moment to enter the stadium since I have absolutely no interest in NASCAR.  Why people pay their hard earned money to sit in the sun and--as George Carlin once said--watch redneck jerk-offs drive 500 miles in a circle is beyond me.  After these races, roughly 20 yahoos who have been building and modifying their shitty trucks for the past year, pull onto the race track with the intention of destroying every other vehicle in sight.  This part of the event is very white trash.  This part of the event is also a ridiculous amount of fun.

The rules are simple:  a hillbilly enters the race with a car/truck/jeep and attaches a car/boat/camper to his vehicle via trailer.  Said hillbilly then drives around trying to destroy every other trailer on the track until one hillbilly with a trailer remains.  You can stay in the race as long as your vehicle is drivable-ish and still retains the trailer.  And did I mention they drive in a figure 8?  Words cannot adequately express the mayhem that is unleashed upon the track.  Hopefully this video will do the trick:

My friends Mary Kate "Perpetually Pregnant" Terberg and her husband Dirk host the event.  Apparently, Dirk and his friends have been coming to to the Rockford Speedway for the race the last 11 years.  And boy do they go all-out.  They're the 1st to arrive in the parking lot, they stake a tent and skull-and-crossbones flag near the beer and proceed to drink for the next 8-10 hours.  This year, they had pulled pork catered and grilled all sorts of delicious, delicious meats.  At the chef's suggestion, I piled a mountain of pulled pork on top of my cheeseburger and now have a new favorite way to destroy myself from within. 

 Proud sponsor of the 2011 World Famous Figure 8 Trailer Race

As the title of this post indicates, the race was glorious.  I was surrounded by good friends, good meat and some weird rodents that filled the parking lot and increasingly baffled our party as we consumed more booze.  We ate, played catch, mocked the trash and peed in a field (dudes only).  We smuggled in beers, watched 45 painful minutes of NASCAR races and ate some oddly good fried cheese from the Rockford Speedway.  And we watched 20 rednecks with names like "Spark Plug" and "Whitey" and "Caterpiller Miller" destroy each others vehicles in a truly American example of overzealous waste and fury.

We will, of course, return next year. 

USA!  USA!

Today in Sheer Internet Joy

I just have so many questions...

I'll be the first to admit it...

...I may have been a bit tough on Paul McCartney all these years.

You see, as a Beatles fan, I fall more in to the "John" group than the "Weenie Paul" group.  John was always the rocker of the two; Paul always seemed more rigid, more structured.  Even when Paul was trying to rock, it always seemed like he was doing just that: trying, and just a little too hard.  Rocking came naturally for John. 

But I have to give credit where credit is due:  Paul is pretty good.  And that hurts to say.

As my loyal readership of 9 can attest, I hold silly grudges for ridiculous amounts of time.  Like when that stoner sandwich artist yelled at me at Jimmy Johns 6 years ago...that whole organization can go to hell.  I'm not entirely sure when my grudge against Paul took hold but I do know that it was some point in my childhood.  I guess it all comes back to the grade school lunchroom mentality: you have to pick an absolute favorite and stick with it through hell and back.  It's why I can still convince myself that Carlton Fisk was a better baseball player than Ryne Sandberg even though my brain tells me otherwise.

To be clear, Paul McCartney is not better than John Lennon.  I am willing, however, to say that Paul was a fairly important member of The Beatles.  I will even go as far to say that he is one of the top two most important members of The Beatles.  He may have even been more talented.  Whatever.  He'll just never be as cool.

All of this soul searching happened because I was lucky enough to attend the Paul McCartney concert last night at Wrigley Field with my wife and my...let me get this right: Step-Mother-in-Law?  Is that a thing?  Krishni's step-mother.  Holly Hannah was that a good show! 

He ripped through 5 decades of music, sticking mostly to the Beatles (Yay!) while mixing in some Wings songs (Boooo!) and some more recent stuff (Meh).  His 37 (!) song set list, by the numbers:

Beatles Songs:  23
Good Beatles Songs:  18
Wings Songs:  8
Good Wings Songs:  1
Middle-aged, shrieking women in attendance:  2,456,890 (citation needed)

It was an excellent show.  He paid nice tributes to John, George and Jimi Hendrix and, oddly, he never once mentioned the name "Ringo".  He looked good for his age (69):

And was ably backed by a pretty good touring band.  Also, I'm pretty sure his guitarist was named "Larry Busey":

Incidentally, that drummer you see in the background is named Abe Laboriel, Jr. and he is awesome.  I never thought you could find a drummer goofier than Ringo but that guy did it all.  Super-fun drummer with unique fills, made orgasm faces while he, uh, beat the skins, and at one point, during the "Dance Tonight" number, stood up behind Paul and did the Macarena.  I want to get hammered with this guy. 

********************

I've always thought that John was the more important Beatle at the beginning but Paul was the dominant one at the end.  Yoko gets an unfair amount of blame for breaking up The Beatles because what it really came down to was two otherworldly talents and egos colliding, each trying to mold and shape the band into wildly different forms.  When the Beatles broke up, there was so much animosity within the band I figured everyone just kind of hated each other for a long time afterwards.  I was shocked to learn only recently that John and Paul jammed quite a bit together after the break-up.  In fact, they were watching Saturday Night Live together in 1976 when Lorne Michaels famously offered The Beatles a check for $3,000 to get back together on the show ("You divide it up any way you want. If you want to give less to Ringo, that's up to you.")

Obviously, time heals all wounds.  Last night at Wrigley, Paul mugged for the crowd an awful lot.  Krishni called it some serious "Rex Manning-Style" preening.

 Paul's Brother from another Mother

Maybe Paul has earned that type of mugging.  He is the only living Beatle that, you know, wrote songs and stuff*.  And last night his tributes to John and George were lovely.  I can confidently say that Paul's public persona is no longer that of the micromanaging asshole. 

That's a compliment, right?

*Yes, yes, I know Ringo wrote two songs.  But one was Octopus's Garden and the other can only be described as a "ho-down" song.  Yee-ha. 

********************

If you care, you can find the entire set list here.