The Weekend at Large Boring has become rather routine here out in the MKE. Boring is the fuel. Ennui is the drug.

So, when I tell you that the weekend was boring, it is akin to saying "this weekend featured three days that ended in Y."

My weekend was boring. Watching my Gaels on Friday night. If you are one of the lucky seven people, nationally, that get ESPNU, you got to see a pretty good game, as well. I got to see something I hadn't seen since my man Smve ran the point and Blood patrolled the paint: a win at the (ahem) Legendary Taps Gallagher Center.

(note: for my money, it's never been legendary. It did used to be a dump, though. Actually, I take that back - it hasn't been legendary since the O'Donohue twins were in the house. But that's a whole different breed of cat.)

And if you're a mid-major basketball fan out there, then you already know about the Iona Gaels. And if you don't, you will real soon...and you're not a real basketball fan. You probably watch cricket, wear an ascot, and are an assclown.

But the game featured some soon-to-be big time players making big-time kinds of plays and shots, with the final death blow provided by the nastiest left-handed Dominican with a mohawk, Ricky Soliver. With the game knotted at 69-all in overtime, Rick had two free throws with 3.9 seconds to go. He missed both and while watching the game (with a few select beverages), it reminded me of another Iona-Niagara matchup from 2002. Iona had Niagara beat. But the Purple Eagles fought their way back (and a few Gael gridders, as the Clash once sang, fought with the law and the law won). But down the stretch, Rick missed seven free throws. Excruciating to watch, knowing how much it killed the kid, but nonetheless, he recovered quite well.

Anyway, back to Friday night...Rick missed both free throws, Niagara gets the rebound, calls timeout and sets up an inbounds play. And apparently, it was drawn up on the posey board as "pass the ball to a wide open Ricky Soliver and let him lay it in so we can lose...'Team' on three, 1-2-3 TEAM!"

And that's how it ended. Like Havilchek, Rick stole the ball! Rick stole the ball! Rick stole the ball! And the Gaels improved to 15-3, 9-1 in league play, and have won seven straight. Yay!
The rest of my Friday night included more select beverages, Patrick and Gould - a deadly MKE cover band that plays everything from Christy Moore to Sheryl Crow, all by request (and a dollar or two). I asked for Christy Moore's "Missing You," as it's apropos to where my head is at this moment, but I settled on Fisherman's Blues by the Waterboys. Also a solid tune.
I've been here since September and have yet to find a solid Irish pub. Mo's is ok, it's a bit forced Irish, though. I'm looking for a place where Tommy the barkeep has three teeth and they serves beer and eggs on Saturday when the rugby or the football is on. Out here, Guinness coasters and U2 in the jukebox qualifies as Irish.

Saturday involved the tasks of waking up (a little more difficult than I had anticipated), watching the current employer's men's squad play Pitt, then going to work for the women's squad against Seton Hall. The current employer went 1-1 on the day, losing the day game but bouncing back nicely in the nightcap.

Later on, grabbed another cocktail or two at Flannery's down the road. This place wasn't much of an Irish place either, but it did have an element that I think has been sorely lacking in my life: other people.

Yes, for the most part I agree with Camus and his view on other people, but for this here stranger in a strange land, hearing the Black Eyed Peas "My Humps" and a bunch of 20-somethings dancing around, spilling their drinks everywhere and falling over themselves is a sight for some sore eyes. Flannery's had the eclectic mix of what is turning out to be Milwaukee's best in terms of the younger folk: people that try too hard.

There were two dudes in there in suits, looking like they were trying to big-shot their way into a table at Da Nico. There were the requisite recently-graduated 23 year olds who are adjusting to the working world but going comatose on a Saturday night. Then there were normal, handsome, smart, well-dressed, individuals with bright futures ahead of them. (as you can tell, yes, I was at the bar).

This rather attractive girl in a pink shirt and those god-awful boots that make girls look like the ones Han Solo wore in Empire when he was riding a Taun-taun. But regardless of her poor choice in footwear, she kept getting caught staring at me. Or I got flagged for 15 yards for illegal use of my eyes. Either way, we glanced several times. And, as things have been going, I did nothing about it. I'm in a terrible slump and it is getting to me. I think I need to light incense and sacrifice a large chicken.

But kicking off the night, as I headed back to the crib to change out of the suit and into bar clothes, was the September pariah that is known as "ninth floor girl."

You may remember her from a blog post from way back . You'll have to scroll way down to find it, but yes..it was her. I know this because she looked the same and pressed the "9" button on the elevator. And I could there were sparks flying, only those sparks were bouncing off the invisible wall of tension between the two of us as we occupied our own separate corners of the elevator. It was like Soviet-bloc Europe. Without wanting to go the 25-28 seconds without saying something, I came up with "boy, this isn't January weather, is it?"

Now, not only is January almost over, but really, what kind of question is that? And there are so many contexts to which that question does not relate to. For one, in Australia, it's about 90 degrees and sunny...and it's January. In San Diego, it's in the mid to high 70's. And considering that I've never spent a January in Wisconsin, who the hell anointed me as the shampooing weather guru? This might very well have been January weather and I might have made an Orwellian mistake by trying to be Al flippin' Roker.

Well a simple "hello, what's your name?" might have done the trick. I might have had her at hello.

Oh well, what can a boy do, other than ride the elevators for eight straight hours or sit in the lobby couches all day. But that's weird.

-----Random Randoms-----
- I think I may need serious bits of psychoanalysis, but I'm digging Sk8er Boi by Avril Lavigne recently.
- More on my Death Cab kick: just picked up The Postal Service's "Give Up." It's th epet project of Ben Gibbard, the singer-songwriter who is the lead guy for DCFC. It's also wicked good.
- I like the Coco Crisp trade. I like picking up David Riske. And I like the lineup the Sox have put together, on paper, to start Spring Training in 20 days (Sox pitchers and catcher report on Feb. 18). They have improved every position either offensively or defensively - and in same cases both. Pitching seems to be a strength, and the bullpen improved. And this coming from a team that tied for the AL East title.
- Tonight's Family Guy with Tom Brady was just g-d insane. From the wax statue of Harriet Tubman & Gwyneth Paltrow, the Perkins Suburu and Mitsubishi ad (where we sell Suburus and Mitsubishi's), to the song-and-dance musical performance...insane. I don't know what kinds of drugs you need to do to be that creative.
- Got the LSAT coming up on Saturday. Pray. I don't know how people can "study" for this test. After a while, it all runs together and I start to see spots. It more practicing how to take a test than it is actually gauging someone's aptitude... But whatever. Gotta do it.

Well, that's done about it from here in the home office. Hope all is well, the sun shining, and the sky Keaney blue.

One.  ¶ 10:47 PM