Stevie and I spent much of the weekend playing host to a bunch of her college friends and the staff of their website, the ever-growing, always ambitious, long-lived flakmag.com. We ended up at one of Chicago's few 23-and-over bars. I guess the idea is to keep out the frat choads, and it seems to have work. I think I'm still two years away from spending that long in a bar again, however. That's when the slow-rolling Chicago smoking ban goes into full effect. I left sounding like a recent tracheotomy patient.
On Sunday Stevie played host to a couple of dozen Flak staffers while a bunch of Chicago A.V. Club types went up to Madison for Chicken Bowl X, the 10th annual Super Bowl party-with-competitive-eating-side-contest hosted by my good friend Stephen Thompson. Much chicken was consumed. although the competition was a good deal less fierce than in the past. It didn't help that one competitor, one of a handful of writers visiting from Television Without Pity, jumped to an early lead, rapidly consuming four breasts and a handful of other pieces. He was even able to take a mid-game nap without a serious challenge.
The spread.
Mr. Thompson, in his element.
An Ingmar Bergman-inspired double-profile of me with Thompson cat Clementine.
That was the weekend. Last night I saw Final Destination 3. Not so good.
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