Un. Be. Lievable.

I will hear no more trendy bashing of the renovated Soldier Field. Went to Opening Night last night with Dad, saw the new stadium, sat in the new seats.

Blown away. What a great job.

The old walls are up, as are the columns — but they are not, as I had feared, stand-alones. They have been integrated into the new stadium with startling grace. You can walk among the columns, now, which is Way Fucking Cool. The concourses aren’t crowded anymore, which is sweet — though it will be more so in December.

Speaking of December, there isn’t really an “inside” anymore. There’s no roof between the inner ring and the outer ring.

The vendors — food, swag, credit cards, etc — are far less crushed in than they used to be, and there’re more kiosks, and more variety.

Our seats are in the same general area — SW corner, way the hell up — but are closer to the field, in an Above sort of way. With the exception of spotting on the far sideline, the view is much better.

As to those who say the place is ugly, I say: The old place was ugly, too, and it was uncomfortable. (And the renovated Soldier Field looks way, way better at night than during the day. I’m OK with this.)

I’m gushing now. I’ll stop. (No, wait, one more thing. You sportswriters who write about how awful the stadium is yet haven’t sat in the stands in years and go in through a private entrance: Fuck you.) I may be overimpressed, but if so, it is because I was so relieved they didn’t put a roof on it.

Now all we need is a team. The one we have now was best summed up by Harry Teinowitz: “The Chicago Bears, presented by Bank One. Yeah, Bank One-and-fifteen.”

Lecher's Eulogy

Please rise.

We are days away from October. Outside, it is cloudy, cold, and raining. Before plunging full-out into winter, I need to pay a little respect to some friends. We’ve had some good times, but now they’re shelved until May.

Farewell, ultra-low-rise jeans with midriff shirts.

Farewell, spaghetti-strap tank tops.

Farewell, <sob>, loose-knit white cotton pants worn with thongs.

Farewell, bikini tops and cutoffs.

Farewell, <sniff>, honest tan lines.

I’ll miss you, my friends. Sleep well.

Caution: All drinks half price

Happy Hour may have found a winter home. This is not an unmixed blessing. The Alumni Club, in the basement of the Stone Container building, was brought to our attention by Nate, who now regrets it. Here’s why:

After 4pm, all drinks are half price. Seriously. I had four Jacks-rocks for $10. This is less than a martini at Nick’s Fishmarket, though without the world-class complimentary cheese puffs. They do have a bargain appetizer menu, though, which is noteworthy for the unusual presence of “tomato bread” — which is what you’d get if you ordered bruschetta at a Howard Johnson’s — among the usual wings/calamari/nachos bar menu. Points were deducted for mozzarella sticks appearing only on the full-price menu.

So we drank half price drinks the way one does, as though the policy might at any moment be violently rescinded. Dave, Nate, the linkless Kindra, and myself went through four or so each in about ninety minutes. Fried things were eaten. Pickup techniques were insulted. Kinky Friedman was quoted. Madden ’04 was discussed with general approval. A waitret was ogled.

A good time was had by all.

You're still here?

Is there a rulebook I can inspect? How often should a person update a blog? What’s the legal maximum number of days I can go without posting lyrics? What about image-links to hooters? Can I say “fuck”? What about “Wesley Clark sucks”? Do I have to write my own nonrhyming poetry?

And is it right to put up bits and pieces when I have nothing long-form to say?

***

I have the power to make it rain by going downstairs with the intent to go outside.

***

Ways In Which The World Would Be Improved If Real Life Were More Like Professional Wrestling: You could watch those Warren Sapp/Tracy Morgan ESPN NFL Football commercials in peace, knowing that at some point before the end of the season, Warren would stomp the crap out of Tracy.

***

What is with the temptation to go into Seinfeld Mode with this thing? I don’t get it. What about having a keyboard and a space makes people thing: “I can fill this. I have Something To Say. People need to see my wisdom.”

Here we go:

At some point in the last ten months, I noticed that my working life had become unacceptably tedious. After contemplation, I reckoned that the best way to rectify this was to keep the world at large advised of my day.

(I’m an idiot.)

Nevertheless, I am — like all of us — an idiot with some things to say. I’m kind of intrigued by the idea that I can just yap away here, uselessly, and people will come read it. That’s so cool.

I can’t explain it either, but I faithfully check a handful of these type of sites daily, mostly for amusing bear video and Wood Inducements.

What’d I forget? Did I do this wrong?