This Sud's For You

NP: Elvis Costello, The Very Best Of (MP3)

Okay, without Freddy Adu, here's the rundown of the "winning" team of Metromix Beer Garden Girls. I heard they cheated. I'm not confirming or denying, just sayin' it's the word on the street.

I'm not telling you which street, either. A good journalist doesn't give up his sources, and neither do I.

First off, "Suds and the City" is not a clever name. It wouldn't be clever even if the show didn't suck. I'll give you (and the "High-Carb Honeys," for that matter) the option to blame that on Metromix. Or Barry, our intrepid photographer and former co-worker who I'm definitely going to blame this whole mess on next time I see him, because I can.

You can tell that Jaime (what, you think I'm going to use last names after what happened last time?) is from Bucktown 'cause she's wearing a choker. We also believe her completely with regard to the haircuts. Tara, hmm, 23 and in "alumni relations." I think that's code for "I don't have a job and just drink with my college friends." I can joke about that now that I'm employed again. Julie? Nope, too easy. I do wonder how you get hooked on Guinness, which is noble in and of itself, in Lincoln Park, which isn't, as they don't typically pour it very well. Except maybe at Glascott's, one of very few LP Irish bars that almost feels Irish. Almost.

At this point, I'm obligated to note that I was going to say something a month or so ago about the abject lack of Irish bars in Wicker Park/Bucktown, but then a new J. Patrick's opened on Milwaukee. So, by that logic, I should think about saying something about not dating, except that washing your car to make it rain never works. You'd think the billboard thing would help (have I mentioned I'm on a billboard or three?), but it's just tough to work that into conversations.

Anyway, where was I? Kara. Most unsubtle ploy for birthday wishes ever. Christine. Too young to realize that yes, most of us have been showered with buffalo wings and beer, but the cool kids get the bleu cheese. And the Gimli diss on the Orlando Bloom question can't go unpunished. Leg-o-lamb gets roasted on a spit without the dwarf watching his back. "Lo, the enemy approaches." [1]

So, now, I've paid my debt to society (and all I ever really wanted to do was play guitar and bend the string like rin-tu-tin-tu-ti-nu-ni-nu-ni), at least until somebody from the team that won the electoral college but not the popular vote, or something like that, find the site and starts badgering me to pick on somebody else.

[1] If anybody I didn't eat lunch with all the time in high school actually gets that reference, I'll be beyond amazed.