Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Dirty Driver

As I stared at a salad plate of delicious wedding spinach on Saturday night I had 2 thoughts: does anyone read the paper anymore and how can I blog this trip? It’s too much.

This drunken, jangly trip of ours is over. Proposed on a whim, it incubated slowly, with the small unimportant bits planned attentively and the large crucial parts slapped together along the way, it will be recorded in the thing that records our lives as a success. Spanning 4 days, featuring a central cast of 7 characters (with a half dozen bit players tossed in for the sake of designated driving) it saw us treking 1200 miles in a rented 12 player white van. It was quite the sight to be-smell.

Stories from this trip will, in time, trickle out on this site. The G and I have challenged each other to write a recap, though it appears to be overwhelming for both of us.

Let’s start with a theme: dancing.

Day 1: On Thursday night (despite the efforts of an accident that had been cleared from the highway maybe 48 hours before we passed, yet still halted traffic for 45 minutes north of Frederick, MD) we rolled into Cleveland and the Jake in time to see, say, the 10th pitch. Several of our party loved the Indian’s stadium, though I found it just okay. It may have been our “eh” seats and my “bleh” hotdog, which I deem the worst of the three I had on this trip.

What does get a big foam thumbs up from me, though, was the stadium’s scoreboard (which someone claimed was the largest freestanding scoreboard in the world, whatever that means) and it’s accompany replay monitor (which someone else claimed was the third largest in the country, nah, the entire Earth 616). Being baseball fans but not growing up a Yankee fan during the 50’s we all really enjoyed the feature where explained the scorecard and how to fill it in as the plays occurred. A fielder’s choice wins you no money.

Along with they nice visual display at the park, I also think the Indians did a hell of a good job with their sound system/music selection. It only took about one inning to get my feet tapping and before long I was doing a jig for every inning break, call to the bullpen and batter theme song.

(Back story: the G gets very antsy when I start acting moving like this. This unease has its roots in the very second Nationals game where I complained (loudly) about a player’s error but was then told to sit down and STFU by his mother and sister who were sitting in front of us. Ever since then she makes sure that I am on my best behavior.)

The rhythm got me and my hips didn’t lie. But it seems that this was too much for some spouses to handle. After a few at bats, the not-so-subtle tug by the G at my sleeve became persistent. And then, to add to her embarrassment, someone threw money at me. (Note: The game was far from being sold out. In our entire section of about 130 seats there were maybe 25 people. No views were being blocked.)

Now, in my limited experience with giving other people money for dancing it was always because I enjoyed what they were doing to that pole. Never have I opened my wallet in an effort to end the gyrating. I viewed this other fan’s generosity in a similar manner. Other people married to me did not.

I was promptly told to “SIT DOWN, NOW!” by the Governess. Though she has been thoroughly embarrassed by her husband in the past but I have rarely seen that level of anger in her gorgeous hazel eyes.

So I sat. And outside the 7th inning stretch I stayed down, pouting in my seat.

Although I left the stadium a few cents richer.

Day 2: The Tiger’s Comerica Park - It is the Awesome.

While I still felt some lingering scarring from the night before, there was a very special moment when the 8 year old in front of us heard me singing along to “Ridin (Dirty),” looked back and simulated revving a motorcycle to the song. It became our own special dance whenever the player that had that as his theme song came up to bat.

The G may or may not have approved of that. You’ll have to ask her.

("Detroit was fine. The Cleveland shenanigans were what I call 'being a jackass, and not a particularly funny one at that.' " - Ed.)

Day 3: The Wedding – The dancing got off to a bad start as the DJ did not seem to be very up to date, (the opening chords of "Under Pressure" we were disappointingly realized to be, in fact, Robert Van Winkle) - out-of-date to the point of the mother of the bride came to our table and asked that we do something about it. Having ruined many a wedding, I figured it would be our little way of setting things right. We submitted our list and eventually people got out of their seats.

Unfortunately for me, because I need constant validation and whorish attention, the dance floor was completely hijacked by another guy. First, he had one of his friends boost him up off the ground so he could catch the garter, even though it was obvious none of the other men out there wanted it. Then he took the mic from the DJ and sang every verse of "It Takes Two". And when the groom announced there would be a Bring It On style dance off between the me and Garter-boy, this same Ben Grimm looking fellow opened with a god damned front flip into the splits, before I could even enter the circle.

I ask you- what type of mother fucker opens with a flip? Total bullshit, dude. Bad form too, laying down your best move before your competition has even loosened his tie. I don’t know where he learned your fancy drill team moves, but it clearly wasn’t the streets like me.

There were plenty of other shenanigans, like one of our proudly musically unaware friends insisting I go request “Dirty Driver” several times before I realized she meant she wanted to here “Ridin’ (Dirty).” Again.

Also, I haven’t even mentioned Pittsburgh on Sunday where we accidentally learned from someone outside of the DC blog community some rather personal and off-putting information about someone inside the DC blog community. Yikes! It’s totally gross! And not what you think! But we’ll save those things for other posts. Or maybe never.

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