11/07/2005 - 8:00 p.m. | decadent

What a stupid weekend. Maybe it�s just my bad attitude.

I woke up and immediately went downstairs to pry all the redundant metal parts off my bike. I don't know what inspired me to such sudden action, but I think it is my strange superstition that it will make the bike go faster. Fuck you, wheel covers. Fuck you, chain guard. There is a very good chance that this will come back to bite me in the ass, but for the time being I am proud of my handiwork.

Friday night, I coerced Dank and Spritz into coming with me to see The University of Illinois vs. a Mummy. Student film. I felt somewhat obliged, really. To go. Not to bring them. Bringing them was more about what misery loves. Anyway, considering I have class with the writer/director/everything, also considering that this person was Chris Lukeman and it would therefore be a perfect opportunity to shit on his work, further considering that I had sort of a relationship� thing� with one of the stars (Andrea Gordon), I felt there was no way I could not attend. I have funny logic like that. Anyway, a bigger cavalcade of trolls and artfags I have not seen in some time, my friends. Dank made a fitting noise to simulate the carefully messed hairstyle of one lad while Spritz mostly made odors that I honestly cannot classify as human.

The movie started. �I touched those,� I pointed out to Dank as Andrea bounced along. It was actually sort of surreal, because I know other guys were sitting there watching her, thinking naughty things about those tits, and I had done that shit with that giant screen person. It makes you wonder what it would be like to be an attractive female, when you can almost be assured that some guy somewhere has probably been masturbating to the thought of you. And I�m not even talking about famous people. Any pretty girl anywhere probably has had at least one dude spank it in her honor. Would you be flattered? Disgusted? Turned on? Unnerved?

Here is a helpful quote from American Pie �actress� Shannon Elizabeth:

�I know a lot of guys go on the computer at night and do their thing [with my photos], but ... it's flattering and sweet. Maybe it makes up for all the time that nobody cared about me but my parents.�

So we have our answer.

This was the stuff I was thinking about to keep my mind off the terrible, terrible movie.

Apparently Lukeman�s hard drive had crashed, losing the feature-length version in the process. Working day and night since the crash, he and his flunkies had created a 50 minute teaser version (with cliff-hanger conclusion!). 50 minutes was more than enough. That�s not to say there weren�t good elements in it. Excessive silly gore and dead people jokes are always great, and I liked the musical number and the satire about the stupid Chief issue and a few other jokes besides, but that was about it. I know it was rough, which explains a lot of the issues with cuts and sound, but there was a lot of pointless �wandering the halls� scenes that added nothing to the film (except bringing it ever closer to the mythical feature-length student film). Continuity errors so blatant that even my dumb ass noticed them. And the ever-present problem with student film dialogue. Or maybe it�s delivery, I�m not entirely sure. Point is, they tried very hard to make the dialogue seem natural, like it would be something we�d say in day-to-day conversation, but that only made it seem forced. Every line reeked of effort, and the halting, disjointed delivery didn�t help matters.

Compared to Spritz and Dank, I am still the most generous critic. We got the fuck out.

While the two of them ran to get Snackers, I grabbed supplies for the evening and started dumping them into my body. Along with three cans of Chef Boyardee products apparently � only one of which I actually remember consuming.

Shelly and Kyle were out of town, and not dead as I had previously presumed, so it was up to me and Spritz to make our way through the evening. �You wanna get laid tonight?� Spritz said as we were driving somewhere earlier that night. As if it were so easy. Just stumble out, grab a chick, and start banging her. Well� I suppose it is if you just continually lower your standards.

Incidentally, Angie Weiss has put up a facebook picture. She is very much like I remember her. Which is to say, bowling ball head. Good show, Spritz.

I started watching Mortal Kombat: Annihilation for the second time this week. Smacko came in to join me, and I began calling out plot points slightly ahead of the film, because I know how much he likes that. �Oh, snap! Here comes Jax! He gonna get hit with a mad grenade from Cyrax!� Is the evening over yet?

Admittedly, I was not in the best mood to start with, but the lineup of parties Spritz had carefully hand-printed was not all that encouraging. Hording my two bottles of cider (soon to be one bottle of cider when I dropped the other on the sidewalk), I tried to remain positive as we met up with Taylor, Brytne, and Jason Kahn: Ultimate Party Krew. The first party was on Elm St., so I figured it might be as good as some of the ones we�d encountered there recently. This was faulty logic on my part. �So, where�s the party, guys?� �You passed it on your way here.� �I didn�t hear anything�� �Over there, with the purple Christmas lights.� Here are some of Nate Walsh�s Signs of an Unsuccessful Party:

1. No noise = no attendees = book discussion group.
2. Desperate attempts to look cheery and party-like with festive decorations.

The only decoration I want is some fat guy puking his guts out on the front lawn. Then I know I am in for a good evening.

So, we walk in, and there are like six uber-hippes sitting around playing pinochle or some shit. Clearly, this was be a night of wild adventures. �Remember the time I needed that ace of spades, and I got it!?!?!!?� Um, no. The hippies take us in and offer, �You guys need cups? Three dollars.� I begin to subtly pantomime to every member of our group � �No, no� � but everyone starts tossing out money, and suddenly we�re stuck here for the long haul. No one�s going to spend three bucks on a cup and get out without their money�s worth. �Besides,� some cretin offers, �we can hide our cups and come back later if we want!� Oh, that sounds like a dream, whoever you are. Fuck off and die. I backpedaled on someone�s locked up bike mostly (my cider in the little flower basket), and after Spritz and I buried a Ford Focus in leaves, I went off to sit alone and sing and drink and look at the sky. Yeah, like I said, I was in a pretty shitty mood (which is to say �emo�). Didn�t want to chat up any morons.

Eventually (e.g. as they were leaving) the group noticed I was missing and hastened to grab me as we walked to the next place. Dustin�s. Oh lord, yes. I�m sorry, I�m sorry � so overly negative, but I�ve been there twice, and I�ve already learned to associate the place with flippy cups and little else. Otherwise known as mediocre party central. Neither Smacko nor Spritz nor myself had any interest at all in the flipping of cups, which left us in the minority (somehow). The two of them tried to remain social indoors at least whereas I retired to the outdoor balconies and watched as people shuffled along, doing their shit. Just gotta wait for the drunk to kick in, just gotta wait for the drunk to kick in. It started to, finally, at long last, and I ran inside to make the most of it. Which is to say back out on another balcony, with Spritz, killing time until� well, I don�t know what. Eventually, we grabbed two remotes from an endtable and ran out to smash them on the pavement. There, we met some Asian guy I vaguely recalled from IMSA as well as some people from Spritz�s hometown. We convinced one and all to piss on cars.

Actually, the transformation was swift and nice � a very near approximation to Perfect Drunk, if perhaps a little foggier � and suddenly everything was amusing me. Andy came around and informed me that I had agreed to play the zombie assistant to zombie Ulysses S. Grant in some project that Andy is working on. �And when did I do this, Andrew?� �Smacko�s party.� �Ah, yes � quite good I did not promise to kill a man then�� The cops came, but like I said, I no longer fear them. It was fun to watch the fear for everyone else, though. Did Andy and cohorts leap off the balcony to escape into the night, or did I just make that up? Anyway, entirely fearless, Spritz and I opened the door and shuffled out. Moments later, the cop arrived. I was quite content to drink my cider and make idle chit-chat with the officer while he tried to argue his way in. �So� how long you been on the force?� The whole thing tickled me very much. I assume others were much less tickled, as the party (and keg) were quickly emptied out, and we suddenly had nowhere to go�

Or did we?!

Spritz still had his little business card full of hand-written party addresses, and we struggled to make sense of them and find our next destination. I resolutely rejected any attempt to attend the IEEE party (the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers, Inc, �a non-profit, technical professional association� � sure to be orgiastic there!), but things get a little hazy for this block of time. I know we went to Dank�s old building and knocked on some door, but there was no sign of anything remotely resembling a party there. Then we may have gone back to that first horrible party, which was suddenly rocking, due in no small part to the purple Christmas lights, I�m sure. Or the fact that Andy got the people across the street to light a big tire on fire. Like I said, hazy here.

Anyway, the next thing I remember was ending up in some Hunsinger apartment hidden in a back alley. To call it a party would be a lie, as there were like six of us, but I was pleasantly surfing at this point. Watched as Smacko downed rum from a bottle, for instance. Made phone calls out on the porch. It was slim pickings, though, I�ll tell you that. Me, Spritz, Smacko, Junior, Senior (I have no idea who these people are), some French guy, Brytne, Taylor, one random chick. Brytne had instructed Spritz to stop her from making out with random dudes, but she had given me no such charge. I gradually led everyone out onto the porch until it was just Brytne and Frenchie, who were already all touchy, and bam. Thirty second romance. Yay, booze. As for the rest of us, well� While Taylor has been steadily gaining worth in my book as of late (her taste in Liz Phair and Rhett Miller, jumping on a mattress out of doors with me � why do I consider that taboo?, etc), that is still a long, long way from any sort of attraction. Which left olive-skinned cowgirl. Unfortunately, everyone else came to the same conclusion, so some sort of competition was underway. She was pretty enough, pretty artfaggy, and (most importantly) very, very drunk. Three of us � me, Junior, some other dude (maybe Smacko) � lurked in her room with her as she lit candles in a very dangerous manner and played Bob Marley or some similar hell. Everyone took turns trying to impress her with their knowledge of literature (she was an English major), but I decided she was most attracted to me as� well, that�s how projection works, isn�t it?

Junior tried a page out of Spritz�s book and tried shitting on me for drinking cider instead of something manly like beer or whatever. Boy clearly does not know his audience. First, attacking my masculinity is like, how they say, shooting a dead horse. Second, if anything, I am at a distinct advantage, as she almost certainly likes guys who attempt to think outside the box. And besides (if I might tangent here for a moment), I feel that I am manly in my own right. Sure I don�t like cars or sports, and I suck at drinking, but I�m not afraid of most things. Germs don�t freak me out. I�ll try anything once. And I am willing to do strange shit and be myself and not conform to the standard ideas about masculinity blah blah blah. But that�s sort of brave and masculine in itself, right? RIGHT?! Well, anyway, it is far more impressive that I will scream �Wonderwall� and get everyone to join in than the fact that you are choking down a bottle of PBR. Probably. I�m sure random girl agreed.

But fuck it, we all know I�m no sinner (at least not in the physical sense), and I already had guilt, and it�s not like I coulda gotten it up anyway, and yeah� I was well gone by this point when our army made it back to that first party, now completely insane. Lots of our troll friends from the movie premiere were scouring around, and I even caught a glimpse of the elusive Owen, whom I have not seen in like a year! I called out to him, and he registered shock and confused laughter before turning away to shut the door. Oh, Owen. You antisocial fuck.

One room, which Andy and friends had taken over, was the Insane Dance Room (until a guy started puking in there, and it became Insane Puke Room). It had like three TVs showing random cartoons and shit and all this bizarre furniture with curtains or something� it was all a blur. And this one friend of Andy�s, dressed up like a commando or soldier or some shit, kept pulling out random mix CDs and going, �Bulgarian techno! Algerian techno!� or whatever. And then he would carefully choose tracks as if one clusterfuck of beats and electronica was going to be different from any other. Not that it stopped me from flailing around. Some nasty girls in the antechamber were watching my antics, but I guess I�m just not that desperate. Mostly it was a bunch of horrid smelling dudes, crowding around Taylor (as she was the only chick on the dancefloor), who kept trying to dance around me (as I was the only one she wanted), who kept avoiding her steadfastly (as I wanted nothing to do with that myself).

I have a pretty effective system set up to avoid cheating. Somehow I consider it more OK to take action if the girl approaches me and makes the move. Unfortunately, only icky girls will ever attempt this, and I am really, really picky, regardless of how wasted I am. To get a pretty girl would take effort, and that type of effort I would never be willing to expend. So, until hot girls just start tossing their panties at me, my fidelity is assured. That�s� practically noble.

Not that I can�t understand the temptation. Drunk especially, one really wants another human being to be close to. And I�m not necessarily saying to fuck or to receive mouth hugs from (although those things are certainly fine). It�s just that� we�re alone most of the time, and the alcohol throws this into much sharper relief than usual. I see my girlfriend once a month, lots of guys don�t have girlfriends or don�t get any often� it sort of builds until your stupid instincts take over, and you�ll take any nasty old girl just because she is warm and will let you play with her hair (among other body parts).

I don�t like to think about that sort of desperation, though, so when it sinks in, I know it�s time to get the fuck out. Walked home to what was essentially an empty house (Kyle and Shelly were home, as I suspected at the time, but there was no chance of rousing them for a late night chat), sat around thinking for a moment, and then rode off on my bike to the grocery store. (There's actually a very good chance I e-mailed Andrea, telling her... God knows what, but I very cleverly deleted my sent mail folder so I could not investigate the day after. You are a sly one, Drunk Nate Walsh!) Wasn�t even hungry, wasn�t hungry for like any of the ten meals I had, but yay fucking comfort food. I walked slowly through the store, listening to my slower songs mp3 folder, picking out items at random. I have an amazing eye for detail, I�ll tell you that. A good mood, I guess, but sort of a bittersweet mood, because I was lonely, and I did wish I had someone pretty to touch.

Instead, I sat up for the next 6 hours, watching three OnDemand movies in a row. Trainspotting (infinitely enhanced when one is Perfect Drunk), The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (sadly only for Jessica Biel�s tits), and Con Air. Sometimes I just can�t allow myself to sleep. Stupid cold lonely bed and whatnot. Wish I had a damn booty call. Instead, I passed out in a ball on the couch, frightening Gautum several hours later when he came down to watch TV or something, and I leaped out from nothingness. I am natural camouflage, baby.

When I did awake, it was to an even more boring day the previous� unless you count the worst meal of your life as exciting. Kyle, Shelly, and I went to Urbana�s Garden (the place right off 74 on Lincoln � you know, with the giant EAT sign?). It was not fucking good. The color scheme should have been our first hint (salmon and teal, like some sort of moldy ham�), the clientele the second. We were the youngest people there by half at the very least. In fact, I can say with some confidence that these people were most likely using the food there as some sort of euthanasia. As always, I was coerced into order the fish (a whole catfish, in this case, bones, tail, eyes, and all), but at least I knew what to expect. I mean, don�t get me wrong, it was still the worst fish I�ve ever had � tasted like radishes, it fucking did � but you don�t expect good fish from any place, let alone this shit heap. Still, how exactly does one fuck up mostacholi? (No one on the entire internet knows how to spell that, so I am just going with my best guess). Mushy noodles, not enough sauce, kind of a foul flavor overall. And unlimited portions! Yes! It is a terrible thing when your gyros plate is the best of the three, I will say that. We choked down our hell, followed by the prices ($13?! I could�ve gotten a pretty decent meal somewhere else for that!), and then stood in the parking lot in a line, all of stricken with various stomach ills. Kyle, the man who can drink like a fifth of Jack and still not cac, is gagging back the bile as it shoots out his nose. Now, listen � listen. Kyle�s parents told us to never go to this place, never ever, but we did, and we were punished. So I�m telling you, please, it is not even funny bad � it is just kill you bad, and you should not ever go there.

We drove around, making sharp turns, screaming at the people we passed (Kyle�s car reeked of onions from the Togo�s bag he left in there from last week). We rented movies, which was like an hour long process, and then came home to settle in our misery and watch them.

Finally saw Day of the Dead, which was as retro and stupid as its predecessors. I know, have to give due, the man invented the modern zombie picture, but lord� the effects, the music, the overacting! I can deal with zombies that look like the cast of a colored-restored black and white movie, but the damn thing sounded like it was set in the electronic circus, and everybody pretty much screamed their lines as they gnashed their teeth and punched the air. Chief amongst them was the head army guy. �IM RUNNING THIS MONKEY FARM NOW FRANKENSTEIN AND I WANNA KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOURE DOING WITH MY TIME?� And watching him stagger along after he got shot? Lord, to think of that poor man practicing that insane wounded gait, bellowing? I looked him up afterwards and was glad to hear that his only role in the past ten years was that of a particular Digimon. (MetalGreymon, if you were interested). Somehow that just seems fitting. Plus, everyone was just a shithead in this movie. I know, that�s supposed to be the point, but the chick was a cunt, her boyfriend was a whiny bitch, and John Goodman was a fucking hyena banshee. The only good character was the zombie Bub, and that�s probably because he had just one damn line. Jesus, fellows! Do I have to reinvent the zombie genre myself?

The rest of the night was equally disappointing, spent downing fairly terrible packaged Mexican rice and watching �The Ultimate Fighter� finale for three damn hours because we couldn�t go out until it was over. Unfortunately, the thing was so long and boring (with Diego Sanchez fighting Sanchez Diego) that we all passed out before the damn thing ended.

I ended up sleeping 18 fucking hours, waking only briefly to scare the bejeesus out of Kyle as I was camouflaged on the couch once again. I�ve never slept that long before in my life. In my lucid moments in between dreams, I wondered if I might be growing. I have expected to wake up two inches taller. Or at least have something two inches taller. Maybe I just have mono. Who knows?

Went into work to collaborate with Cara on more Lovesac ads. I don�t know why, but this project feels like it�s been dragging on forever. Not that we�re a bad team, I guess, but I still don�t feel entirely positive towards the team dynamic. It seems like we almost entirely used her ideas, her wording, her designs, and it�s not because I didn�t come up with any of my own. It just seems like every person is inclined to think of their own work as the best, and somebody has to eventually submit or you�ll get nowhere. that person is usually me. This is not to say that her stuff was bad � some of it I liked very much and will freely admit was better than my own� It�s just� no one likes every one of their ideas shot down or picked apart, do they? Luckily, I�m gradually learning how to use my role as backseat driver to push things into a direction I can agree with. Like, Cara dumps out all these ideas, and I will usually pick out the weirdest ones and use those as a starting point. And she�ll totally disagree with me, but then we post it, and everyone likes that part.

I dunno, I keep waiting for that �click� Peter told us about, when we just start making great ads really easily. Like, we�ve been struggling all this time, and he talks to us for like two minutes at the end of class one day and somehow finds the exact direction we need to go in as well as two good specific ideas I really wish he hadn�t given because we probably would have thought of them eventually and could have used them� I don�t want to say I�m not cut out to be a creative� I have certain things that do help� I have people skills, a quick wit and personality that draws people to me, and I can hit the occasional clever idea or interesting image and I�ve got a fairly keen instinct for making decision, but� I�m just not producing the caliber of ads I want to be yet. I really hope it comes in time.

After Cara left, Mary Adekoya came. We�ve been bumping into each other a lot since I got this job, so we spent a couple of hours shitting on people from IMSA (e.g. Danny Yagan) and bitching about the cruelty of the world to people in our respective fields. It was fun.

Nice to have a real night off, too. I mean, not that there aren�t a million things I should be doing, but none of them were due the very next day either. It seems like I�ve been in very deep shit for quite some time. Apparently (for instance) I have not been getting paid for my labsitting job, which means I have sort of been spending money that I do not have, as evidenced by the sudden flurry of letters I�ve received from the bank, which would read (no doubt - if I read them) that I have overdrawn my account and am being penalized an egregious fee in addition to the money I still owe for that two dollar Burger King sandwich, so on and so forth. But I just keep dumping little bits of money in � a check here, a tax refund there, a honkin� pile of loose change spread around � and hopefully I will only be about as fucked as I am normally in short time.

I finished Freakonomics. It was all right, but not quite as stirring as either of Malcom Gladwell's books. Maybe I've seen the same old tricks done too many times. ITS NOT WHAT YOU THINK IT IS! IT'S SOMETHING CRAAZY! On the plus side, it did shit on some liberal beliefs, and I think that is important at times. I mean, trust me, I'm not the least bit conservative, but being too liberal is just as bad, all overly sensitive and politically correct and shit. It's like... I dunno... conservatives are morons, but liberals act like we're all morons and need to be taken care of or something... Plus, overprotective parents are just annoying, and I'm glad this book finally shows that it don't do shit being like that.

The weekend ended with a brief peek into the latest Furby and Tamagotchi technology, followed by me prodding Kyle and Shelly to come to Steak and Shake for large, plain meals we certainly did not need. At least our waiter was autistic:

Waiter: How is everything?
Me: It�s fine.
Waiter: Thank you. (walks away)
Me and Kyle (mouthing): Thank you????

Writing seven pages on a boring weekend is just a crime. I can�t even believe I did this.