Aldous Huxtable

It’s a random Saturday around 10:32 p.m. You find yourself and a few pals in a bar frequented by young, hipster-leaning Chicagoans. Ordering your fourth whiskey with a Coke splash, you observe the scenery. You manage to catch the eye of a girl and her friend who are completely losing their minds to a No Doubt song. You’ve got a bit of liquid courage and she looks cute enough. What do you do?

Stay put: Read No. 1.

Approach them: Read No. 2.

1: She seems well and good, but you just got out of a crappy situation and, hey, this whiskey isn’t going to drink itself. You polish off your cocktail and have another. A late-arriving friend is in a hurry to catch up with the party and promptly pays for several rounds of shots, which you happily consume. A few hours later, you end up angrily texting your ex, accusing her of cheating on you back when you dated. This leads to you spending 12 minutes outside of the bar loudly yelling into your phone. You blow off your friends and drunkenly stumble home, waking the next day at 1:50 p.m. on your couch, fully clothed and with your contacts still in. END SCENE

2: You just got out of a crappy dating situation and figure there’s no time like the present to break your slump. With renewed confidence, you dance over to the girl and her friend. The girls are very nice and welcoming, and you proceed to order a round of shots. Everyone is getting along nicely, and the girl’s friend is not-so-subtly trying to push you two together. Your friend saunters over and the suggestion to change locations is presented. Before you can finish your last drink, you get a text from a former hookup who’s in town from D.C. and looking to meet up. The last time you “met up,” you walked funny for three days. What do you do?
 
Ignore the text: Read No. 3.
Pursue the booty call: Read No. 4.
Text your ex because you’re drunk and feeling some feelings: Read No. 5.

3: You take a moment to consider, then decide that you’d rather see what happens with this current situation. Your whole group moves to a late-night bar known for inspiring bad decisions. The place is bumping and you all quickly start dancing, letting “the rhythm take you over” as Enrique Iglesias used to put it. After a few more rounds of drinks, you become those a-holes making out in the bar. Your friend interrupts you to let you know that your “friend” from D.C. just walked into the bar and is heading right for you. Being kind of a chump, you duck into the bathroom. When you come out, the girl you were kissing is leaving because her friend wants to go home. You reconnect with your friend from D.C. and depart to your place for a night of passion. Unfortunately, you’re unable to perform due to having consumed large amounts of alcohol. At best, you muster an awkward attempt at morning redemption, but the damage is done. Six months later, you discover your new nickname in the Chicago social circle is “WD-40.” (a jab at your stamina and unability to perform.) END SCENE

4: Let’s be honest. Summer is coming; there will be plenty of time for bar romance. A rare visit from a quality sexual companion is a treat that shouldn’t be passed up. You text the girl back, only to discover she actually was en route to the bar you’re currently at. You plan to meet her at her hotel room and get a cab over. You have a night of wild passion. Waking up in the morning, you head out to brunch and run into your ex … who’s with the dude you always suspected she cheated on you with. A big fight breaks out, there’s challah French toast flying everywhere and you end up getting a shiner and one hell of a story on Monday. END SCENE

5: Against the wishes of everyone, you abandon your conquests to text your ex and wax poetic about the good ol’ days. She isn’t having it. Feeling dejected, you go to 7-Eleven and get a turkey and cheese sandwich. You choke on it and die. Lesson here? Don’t ever text your ex when you’re drunk, you idiot.  END SCENE
 
What have we learned here? Love truly is a battlefield, friends. Proceed with caution.

Dude, what the hell?
 
This week has officially been a double ass-burger with extra cheese. We’ve got stuff blowing up in Texas, jag bags harming innocent civilians in Boston, Chicago is half underwater, the Senate is apparently half in the bag when they vote now, Derrick Rose officially didn’t play a single minute of the NBA season and Drake dropped the 6th most sensitive rap song since “I need love.” I’m not the most religious person in the world, but you have to start looking around and wondering … is this the end of days?
 
Well, if it happens to be, I’d like to address some stuff that has been lingering on my chest for a bit:

• I purchased the Trapt CD the day it came out in 2002.

• When I moved to the suburbs in 4th grade, I lied to a bunch of kids and told them Dominique Wilkins was my uncle. He isn’t. 

• My friends and I were all gay for the two-week period between the release of Hanson’s “MMMBop” video and the revelation that Taylor Hanson was indeed a boy.

• On three separate occasions, I called in to vote for Limp Bizkit’s “Nookie” on “Total Request Live.”

• When I was younger, I whistled and catcalled white women very loudly for about a week or so because I was pissed about Emmitt Till. 

• I’ve faked it. 

• More than once.

• The first time I tried pot, I got so high that I started crying.

•  I used my friends butt as a pillow one time.

•  That friend was a dude.

I feel much better. Everybody be safe out there and be kind to one another. (Sidebar: If my house is flooded when I get home, I’ll need drinking buddies. You know where to find me.)

Folks, I don’t even know what to start with here. Hi. Hey. Here’s an inspirational quote: “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. - Aesop.” I don’t know. I hope you and yours are doing well.
This column was originally me trying to crack a joke or two at the expense of people who try to make horrible situations about them. “Oh, my great-grandfather used to be roommates with a guy from Boston, so you’ll have to excuse me grieving harder today.” Then it turned into a rant about how childish it is that the social media police come out en masse during tragedies or how people use this as an excuse to get into a digital dick-measuring contest. A tasteless joke gets said or a stupid consumer brand forgets to stop auto-tweeting and this happens:


Well, we angrily tweet. Same thing. Maybe irrational anger about how other people tweet/post is how we process something that doesn’t make sense, I don’t know. After two aborted attempts, I went home and did this:


Everyone I know in Boston is OK and accounted for. Short of grieving and checking in with my family, I didn’t know what else to do. I imagine I’m not the only one. This stuff happens with such a frequency that being numb has become a way of life. So I sat. I watched “The Cleveland Show.” I didn’t do much.

Around 1:30 this morning, I took another crack at it. It was going to be called “How tragedy gets expressed on social media now.” It was a bunch of GIF’s. Here’s a bunch of them:




Strike three. (Although that last one is absolute perfection and should be viewed whenever you’re feeling down.)
So here we are. My intent was good, man! The plan was: 1: Dissuade the notion that responding to hate with hate is a pointless exercise which will totally make you miserable. 2: Reassure people who read these words that being a positive person even when its hard to do so will always lead to a happier and more fulfilling existence. (You’ll also get laid more.) and 3: Make someone laugh. I don’t think I did that, but maybe that’s OK right now. In the meantime, I’m going to go tell my friends and family that I love them, grieve for those that we’ve lost and those hurting right now, and get back to being excited about the prospect of what tomorrow’s got coming. Do likewise. I promise we’ll get ‘em next time, OK? Want more? Discuss this article and others on RedEye’s Facebook page.