Stumbling home from a night at the bars, you get to see a lot of interesting fights and arguments on some of Chicago’s mean, Abercrombie-filled, streets. Cracker on cracker crime at its finest. Can’t they all just get along?

Sunday night, Stubby and I wandered around Wrigleyville at 2am, searching for a pizza to sop up the Coronas and shots of Jameson. While on Addison, a woman was yelling at her boyfriend. We prepared ourselves, just in case it got physical.

Girl: I can’t believe you did that
Guy: (Silent)
Girl: I would NEVER do that to you
Guy: (Silent and getting really annoyed)
Girl: I mean, why? Why? Whyyyy????
Guy: (More silence)
Girl: (Starting to cry) I’m so hurrrrrrt. I would never do that to you.
Guy: (Still not speaking)
Girl: I would NEVER leave you on stage to sing Margaritaville by yourself.

That poor guy. Some people claim that there's a woman to blame
And he knows it's his own damn fault.

“Ten bucks says that they go home together tonight”
- Me, 8:00PM Tuesday night

Two hours later I was the winner. Seven of us from the law firm were at happy hour at an Atlanta dive bar. Michelle gave me a ten as Michael and Sofia left the bar together. It was an easy bet, as they were the only ones in the group who weren’t in relationships. Neither of them was particularly attractive. But affter consuming chicken wings, nachos, mini-burgers, and several pints of beer, the twenty-something duo had no other option but to hook up – it was their destiny. They were horny, and we were in desperate need of some office gossip.

“Hey, should we follow them? I know where Michelle lives. I want some verification that they’re really hooking up.”
- Michelle, 10:05PM Tuesday night

Michael is another associate from Chicago and had a room at the same hotel as me. The same floor, even. Sofia is a paralegal from the area. So we surmised that they would be taking the extracurricular activities to Sofia’s place. I had no idea what we hoped to accomplish, but I agreed to head back to Sofia’s with Michelle and Rebecca. It’s not like I’m gonna skip out on any activity that includes two if-I-were-single-I’d-bang-them ladies.

We pulled up to Sofia’s and sure enough, Michael’s Ford Taurus rental was sitting in her driveway. Michelle said, “OK, I guess you get to keep your money. We can go now.” I replied, “No way. We need to find a way to let them know that we know exactly what they were up to.”

For a few minutes, we talked about things we could do. Then we decided that we would simply place a note on Sofia’s glass patio door that said, “I know what you guys did last night.”

We approached the cracked-open window and actually saw necking. Yeah, necking. I said it. Hot and heavy. You know. Making out, and stuff. We giggled while watching behind a short patio wall. Then Sofia led him upstairs.

That’s when I wedged our note on the patio door.

Then I figured that I would go one step farther.

I stepped into the apartment and swiped Michael’s laptop bag (it was next to the couch), removed the note from the door, and got the fuck out of the place. That’s what he gets for being a male whore AND a responsible firm employee at the same time.

~

About half an hour ago, Michael walked in and told the team that he thinks that his laptop bag was stolen from his car. He had a guilty look on his face and went to a separate conference room to “call some clients.”

I took the laptop out of its bag, and placed it in front of his seat. He returned, looked at the rest of us, blushed, and screamed, “YOU MOTHERFUCKERS.”

The $10 was returned to Michelle – the entertainment value from the evening’s events was worth much more than the original wager. As an added bonus, I didn’t even have to get hotel room pr0n. Score!

Saturday morning (Friday night), 2:30AM

HONK!
Me: (Cunfused, and rudely awakened.) What the fuck?!?!?
HONK!
It was a taxi cab in front of my house honking its horn. Normally I would be quite pissed about this, but...
Me: What time is it?
Taxi driver: 2:30AM, sir. You're awfully difficult to wake up. This is the destination you gave me earlier.
Me: Thanks, man. (Gives the driver a little more than the standard tip, then stumbles out of taxi into house.)

Speaker has tagged me with this "Seven Random Things" meme. Here we go...

1. Although I consider(ed?) myself somewhat athletic, I never played a sport in high school. Instead I was a yearbook editor, and on the scholastic bowl and chess team (captain). It's a miracle that I'm no longer a virgin.

2. I spent thirteen years in Catholic schooling, including four years as an altar boy. No, I wasn't molested. Girls didn't like me. Priests didn't like me. I'll call that a draw.

3. I spent the first two years in college on academic probation. It took some serious ass-kissing of a dean to keep me in school.

4. In college I wasn't into drugs. But for some reason, from 2002-2003, I smoked quite a bit of weed.

5. In 1999 I was arrested after getting into a fight outside of a Lincoln Park bar. After $750 in attorney fees and $250 in retribution, my friend and I had the charges dropped. Reminds me, I really need to get that expunged.

6. I can't remember the last time I went a day without looking at naked boobies.

7. I enjoy changing up my hairstyle - I get bored keeping it the same. I've had bronze highlights, blonde tips, a rockin euro-mullet. And as of last night, a shaved head. My locks will be on sale on eBay shortly.

Taggeth-a Soren
Gene-o
Matt Q
Wheezy
Elizabeth
Grubby
Carmen
Hoy

Curt Schilling is one of the most insufferable people in sports. If Phil Jackson weren't around, he'd probably take the number one slot. Put a microphone or camera within three hundred feet of the ballpark, and Schilling will probably find it.

A few weeks ago, Schilling was all over the news in a controversy over whether in the 2004 ALCS his socks were truly covered with blood. Gary Thorne, Orioles broadcaster, had stated that it was really paint. This was based on something he had overheard Doug Mirabelli state in the locker room. A few days later, Thorne retracted his statement, due to a misinterpretation of some locker room banter.

There's no doubt in my mind that the blood on the socks was real. What I question is how the blood got there. It wouldn't surprise me if Schilling spent an hour or two before the game sopping up as much blood as possible, just to get the camera to focus on his ankle. Of course this isn't based on any fact at all. It's based on my knowledge of what a jagbag Schilling is.

So Schilling would win the million-dollar dare he made to anyone who questions the source of the stain on the sock. It's blood, but only because Schilling went to a little extra effort to put it there.

The sock is in the MLB Hall of Fame - it can be tested easily. Did the HOF ask for the sock?

Of course not - Schilling sent it to them without them even asking. Insufferable douchebag.

~

But then Schilling had to open his mouth about Barry Bonds. And I'm ecstatic that he did:

"I mean, he admitted that he used steroids. I mean, there's no gray area. He admitted to cheating on his wife, cheating on his taxes and cheating on the game, so I think the reaction around the league, the game, being what it is, in the case of what people think. Hank Aaron not being there. The commissioner [Bud Selig] trying to figure out where to be. It's sad."

Just fantastic. It's about time that a player called Bonds out for being a cheating scumbag.

What is interesting is that the folks at the worldwide leader in sports are all doing the damage control, stating that it was "alleged" use of steroids. Of course they are. They have a big, record-breaking home run to report in a few weeks.

They're of course ignoring the fact that Bonds told a federal grand jury that he used a clear substance and a cream supplied by Balco. It makes no difference that the testimony was leaked - illegally leaked. That means nothing. What's important is that it was a leaking of the TRUTH.

I'm waiting for Bonds to file a libel or defamation of character lawsuit against Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams, the authors of "Game of Shadows." Is it going to happen? Hell no. Why not? Because what's in the book is the truth. Bonds knows it. I know it. And Curt Schilling knows it.

And finally someone in baseball - Schilling of all people - has the balls to speak the truth.

~

[Update - 2 hours later] Apparently Schilling doesn't have the balls to stand by his earlier statement. The weasel backed off and said: "I'm thinking that waking up at 8:30 a.m. to do the weekly interview we do with WEEI is probably not the greatest format and if you heard the interview it's not hard to realize that I'm usually awake about 30-45 seconds before it begins"

Oh, and Bud Selig is finally doing something.

My gastrointestinal system has been a mess since I returned from India on Saturday. No, it's not "Delhi Belly" - the prescription that I received for traveler's diarrhea isn't going to help. It's actually the opposite. I haven't really eaten much the last few days, but somehow I've put on almost seven pounds. That's right, Output < Input. I feel like that character in "Big Trouble in Little China" who could inflate himself.

So now I'm working on deflating. Tomorrow I'm going to try the following (in no particular order):

• Metamucil


• Coffee/Espresso


• Bobby Brown


• Cohiba Siglo VI


• Ex-Lax


• Bud Light


• Reruns of Wings

Wish me luck.

This might be one of my favorite issues of Truckin'. Fantastic writing, as usual.

1.60 Hours in Amsterdam, Part I by Paul McGuire
I was worried that the Air France ticket agent in Nice was going to send my bags to Paris. He kept asking me if I was going to Paris and I responded with "Amsterdam" everytime he asked... More

2. Stuck in Monte Carlo by Otis Dart
It was actually the sea that I had stepped out on the balcony to see. I'd only been on the ground in Monte Carlo for a few hours. The moment I crashed into my room at the brand new Monte Carlo Bay Resort, I'd fallen into the most comfortable bed in the world... More

3. Emilio Estevez Loses His Tooth by BTreotch
Four minutes earlier, Emilio Estevez was beating his kid-brother Carlos while he was hog tied and strapped to the top rail of their swing set with cheap-itchy yellow rope... More

4. Confessions of a Man by Sigge S. Amdal
I should have asked her for a date. Any date at all. 4th of March, 6th of April, didn't really matter. As long as we could go and have a dinner, or see a movie or something. It's not like I'm craving a relationship, I've got too much to do already, but it stung inside of me knowing that I'd already lost a chance. A chance. Singular term. There could be more coming... More

5. A Grand Day Out by Susan Bently
On the other side of the road sat this German guy's car with a huge dent on the bonnet and his family sitting in the car, wife and children looking wide-eyed and pale. The bleeding carcass of a moose lay next to the car, dark patches of blood over the centerline... More

6. City of Sins by Clay Champlin
People head to Las Vegas for two reasons: salvation or condemnation. Those looking to be saved from their mundane Midwestern lives bask in the perpetual glow of the strip or gawk skyward at downtown's Freemont street experience... More

The sight of Mayweather walking to the ring wearing a sombero with 50 Cent rapping next to him is just priceless. Last time someone did something like this, he got his ass beat by Ivan Drago. Let's get ready to rumbbbbbbbbbbbbbble!

In a meeting yesterday, I met two guys named Sanjaya.

The entire hour I hummed "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic."

~

One reason I haven't complained too much about all my travel the past few months is that we scheduled a meeting for Buenos Aires. I planned on arriving there a week early to check out Mendoza and travel around Argentina.

The law firm just hired a new boss, who changed the meeting location. No more Latin America. That bastard.

~

I went all day yesterday without using the office bathroom.

~

Thank Krishna for iTunes. I'm downloading shows (like Lost) that I can watch on my 16 hours of flight time home.

~

Thank Brahma for nba.com. When I arrive in the office, the first thing I do is listen to the late playoff game.

~

I'm really craving a big, phat, juicy steak.

~

Curry for breakfast. Curry for lunch. Curry for dinner. It's tasty and all, but I need a bit of a change. Even the pizza (ordered from Domino's) has crazy-ass spices on it.

~

Thank Indra for the driver we've had all week. Ol' Shankar picks us up whenever we're ready to go somewhere, no matter the time, nor distance (some trips were only 5 minutes away). Much easier than getting a taxi every time. Renting a car is not an option - there are many better ways to die.

~

I've been washing my face and brushing my teeth with bottled water.

~

I went all week without withdrawing cash. I converted $10 to 450 rupees when I was in Delhi. I still have 200 rupees left. Credit cards are key.

~

Also important? Mosquito repellent and hand sanitizer. I'm almost out of the latter.

~

Seventeen more hours and I'm out of here. Not that I'm counting down...

~

[Update 9:41AM, Bangalore time]

So that's how the day is gonna go. I took an elevator from the second floor to the fourth floor. Then the power went out. I was stuck with one other person for about three minutes. It sucked.

OK, I'm safe (and clean) in Bangalore now. The overnight stay at the Delhi airport was wretched. Six hours sitting on the floor, wreaking of curry, ball sweat, bad breath, and mosquito repellent. I looked so bad that a homeless Indian guy tossed me fifty rupees.

The flight from Delhi was comfy and uneventful. After a little of two hours I was in Bangalore.

My driver took me back to the hotel where I showered then slept for five hours. It's a very big, American (clean), hotel with several restaurants and an Irish pub. The pub attracted all the non-Indian business travelers from the area. That is, all the whities. The crackers. The honkies.

Everyone at the bar hoped to watch the Liverpool-Chelsea match at 12:30am. Problem was, all the bars in Bangalore close at 11:30pm. I assumed that it was because of the British influence on India - I know that the bars in London close early as well. But according to the bartender, the people here get so rowdy when they're drunk that the police mandated an early shutdown.

So instead of watching the game in the bar two guys from London purchased six bottles of wine sneaked us into a conference room that had a plasma on the wall. Good times.

~

I'm still not used to seeing dots on people's heads. Especially the big ones that look like gunshot wounds.

~

The food. Holy fucking crap is it good. And cheap. For the equivalent of $5, I enjoyed a meal that would have cost $30 for similar food of lesser quality in Chicago.

~

If you're into exotic women, this town ain't too shabby. No sign of a strip club. Not that I'd go...

~

Kingfisher beer - iz goood