- "Girls on film......girls on film"
- JV and highway bounce passes
- Andy/Christian and the case of the missing $300 (that could TOTALLY be an Encyclopedia Brown story)
- The shitfaced ramblings of Slough: "Let's derive ourselves on Schne's jacket"......"My answer is twofold"......"Do you guys remember that Schneweis guy? I heard he likes dudes now. BIG dudes"......"How much money did I lose? Let's just say that I am sans twenty dollars."
Now, stories the rest of the interwebs might possibly care about:
- While bar-hopping Thursday night, I was one of the first people out of our current bar en route to the next one, and here was the scene I walked into: Dave (one of Schne's Louisville friends I had just met a couple hours earlier) standing against the front bumper of a car that was halfway in the parking lot and attempting to pull into the street, holding his cell phone out and screaming "I'm calling the cops! Do you hear me? I am calling the FUCKING cops!" Until a black girl handed him a fistful of cash, he moved, and they drove off. Apparently these girls came up to him while he was on the phone and molested him while asking if he wanted a parking lot BJ (the very best kind, in my opinion.) He said no, then realized as they walked off that they had just picked his pocket. And things escalated from there. At least he got his money back- and on the bright side, in honor of Dave, I bet on a longshot horse named 'Pickapocket' later that weekend that, naturally, came out of nowhere and won the race. So at least I was able to profit from the situation. Which is all that matters, really.
- I'm convinced Louisville has the best cabbies in the lower 48 states. Every year, dating back to our spring break trip in 2005 (when our two cabs raced each other home at 70mph on busy roads while blasting Ludacris loud enough to permanently damage my eardrums) we always get interesting rides. On Thursday night, our cabbie announced that our 5 block ride was going to cost $20. Amy and I pulled the patented Stenjo move and just got out and started running. Schne and JV started a good cop/bad cop routine where JV calmly says "Come on man, just come on. 20 bucks? There's no way it's that much. Come on." While Schne yells from the backseat "You are a LIAR! You are a lying man! There is NO EFFING WAY we're paying this!" I think they only ended up paying like $14.
On Friday night, we got a large black man who spent the entire ride lecturing us on how to bring girls home from the bar: "You just gotta ask for it....you JUST. GOTTA. ASK. Just go up to them and say it: Hey, girl. What do you say we get outta here and go do something nasty? Girls love it when you're direct with them." He also had Entourage playing on a little portable DVD player on his dashboard that he clearly rigged up himself, and had no problems with hollering at girls with big boobs walking down the sidewalk. Although that effort required him to drop to a speed that was below 60mph, which wasn't exactly his cup of tea.
- On Saturday night at the bar, I was walking across the patio from the bathrooms to our crew, and a group of people spotted the Adam Banks j-shirt I was wearing and started a rousing "Quack! Quack! Quack!" Mighty Ducks chant. Just as it was reaching its crescendo, and I felt like the coolest guy in Louisville, some other dude walked by and shouted, in perfect video game-voice, "You fucking cake eater!" It was tremendous work by that guy. The best boom roasted by a stranger since we were posing for a picture in front of Cheers in Boston and some guy gave us a drive-by "They don't know your name!"
- During the Oaks races on Friday, we found ourselves in a box across the aisle from the one and only Joey Fatone, of NSYNC fame and fortune (it is NSYNC, right? I was calling him a Backstreet Boy for half the day before being corrected.) Remember that website that was big a few years ago, the one where you'd upload a picture of yourself, and it would spit out a list of the celebrities you resemble the most, in order of percentage? Somehow, my #1 celebrity match was Joey Fatone. Go figure that one out.
79%? This fuckin' guy?
- Due to the onslaught of rain that hit Louisville on Friday night and Saturday, our plans for Derby day shifted. In yet another sign that we have aged another year since 2009, we were all in agreement that the infield was out of the question. If I was 21 or 22, then sure, sign me up for the infield, I'll just throw on a garbage bag suit, tennis shoes that I can throw away later that night, and let's go check out the mud-wrestling pit, dude. But I'm 27 now. I would like to wear my clothes home; drink my mint julep without worrying about flying mudballs splashing into it; and be able to access the betting window without making a journey that makes Frodo's voyage to Mordor look like child's play. So we shelled out the extra money and sat in the grandstands. It's not a box next to Joey Fatone or Avery Johnson or anything, but it's much better than the infield when it's been raining for 18 straight hours. We'll re-evaluate next year if the weather is nice; I have to say there is still no better feeling than duct-taping a bottle of Early Times to your crotch and sneaking through security, unfolding your lawn chair, and plopping down to watch horse races for eight hours. I missed that feeling this year. (Especially since if you're not going to the infield, security apparently doesn't care at all. We knew from last year that they were a lot more lax at the main gates, so we all had Early Times tucked into our dress socks. However, we didn't even get a pat-down this year. Shit, I was openly drinking from a Qdoba cup full of whiskey and Coke, and still breezed right through. Next year I'm bringing a case of beer, fuck it.)
- Once again, I'm one of the luckiest bastards at the Derby. My Super Saver pick paid off nicely (although Mission Impazible ended up sucking, he was in great shape before clipping heels with another horse on Turn 2.) My system of picking names that relate to inside jokes; particular odds that I like on a race; paying attention to which jockeys and numbers have won or lost for me throughout the weekend; and just relying on my gambling hunches continues to pay off. Meanwhile, regular track-goers are poring over statistics and insider tips for the full 40 minutes between races, and I'm having more success than lots of them. I'm not trying to brag; I actually feel guilty about it for the most part. I'm just saying, I'm about two more successful years away from writing a self-help book on how to win money at the Kentucky Derby. I'll call it "I Like Those Odds: How My Buddy Getting Pickpocketed By A Couple Of Skank-Ass Ho's Won Me $95." It can go on the shelf next to "All Night Super MarioKart Time Trial Benders And Me: How To Succeed On The SAT's."
- The age-old question, one we delved into quite a bit this weekend: if you owned a race horse, what would you name it? I think I'd go with either:
1. 'Game Jeans' because of a certain referee who ejected Noles from a Devils Lake tourney basketball game like eight years ago
2. 'What Up With That?' because it would be tons of fun to yell during the race. Also, because these SNL sketches are superb (the best thing Keenan Thompson has done since Russ Tyler and the knucklepuck- though I'd listen to arguments that his kids-themed news show was pretty good.)
3. 'Broseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat' because we were playing the 'Bro Namath, Bro Pesci, Brosie and the Pussycat Dolls, etc.' game, and I came up with the Dreamcoat one and wanted to pat myself on the back a little bit. Indulge me.
Just so you know, your answer may be good, but it's never beating Lane's answer from a couple years ago: 'My Face.' Can you imagine if that horse was the Derby favorite, and you had 100,000 people yelling "Come on My Face!" as he made his move on the homestretch? Classic.
