It was a banner weekend around these parts as I attended Gilbert’s 25th birthday party Friday night, my buddy Dane’s surprise 30th Saturday night and the G-town-Notre Dame game in between. It was an early affair, high noon at the Verizon Center, so I met up with Scott Olin Schmidt a.k.a. Boi From Troy at Clyde’s beforehand for brunch drinks. Little did I know that we were amongst potential greatness.
Up from my beer appeared the glowing visage of a girl I thought may be Scarlett Jo. My suspicions were seemingly confirmed when guys came up to her asking for her autograph. Giddy as schoolgirls Scott and I rolled into the game only to witness the Hoyas wax the Irish. A glorious weekend, indeed, made all the better as we exited the stands and ran into the one who would be Scarlett once more on the concourse. Take a look …
Knowing that Matt Ufford of With Leather fame has a serious crush on our mark, I notified him of the sighting in the hopes that he could rule on the matter. Post about it he did, mostly to say that it was not Johansson but rather some girl that he’d still gladly sleep with. It wasn’t until his commenters came to the rescue that the mystery girl’s true identity was revealed:
As both a Georgetown alum and a girl, I can say that she is without a doubt Sara Albert of America’s Next Top Model Cycle 6 and Gtown ‘05. She’s like a 6′1″ poor man’s version of ScarJo. Hope that helps!
For shame, I thought I’d actually seen a Hollywood star roaming the DC sports scene and it turns out to be a reality TV vixen. Regardless, it was fun figuring it out and I thank Schmidt for the tix and Ufford for the answer.
Good news! The new Jesus sports statues are in, still piping hot from the kiln and ready for shipping over at Catholic Shopper.com. But unlike in previous versions in which He was smack dab in the action, Our Lord and Savior seems content to kibitz from the sidelines this time, refusing to get directly involved even when little Tommy takes an obvious dive in soccer, or when young Billy drags a defender for a first down in football. Hey Christ, ever hear of ‘in the grasp?’ Blow the freakin’ whistle!
Our favorite is the one on the bottom right, in which Jesus explains to Jimmy why Sally must be allowed to play in their youth baseball league. Who better than Christ to detail the ramifications of Title IX?
These sculptured wonders are all pretty swell, as far as they go. But we thought we’d throw in our own entry, based on recent troubling events:
No, not even divine intervention could save the Cowboys on Saturday (Christ seems to be saying “I give up”). This is just a prototype, but if Catholic Shopper gets a move-on, they could be ready in time for the 2007 holidays. And what better present for the Cowboys fan on your Christmas or Hannukah list? We mean, besides poison or a noose?
Busta [Rhymes, we presume] just got out on bail and when he came out people were jacked up. I’m not sure he knew where he was. He kept telling us we were dressed too nice and we needed to get loud. And he kept wishing us a happy ‘07 like it was a New Year’s party. Finally at the end, he wished Gil a happy birthday, and said “that mother[effer’s] been puttin’ some serious mother[effin’] points on that scoreboard.”
Whenever I saw Gil he just looked like a kid in a candy store, as if he couldn’t believe all of this was here for him. Every time he got around the crowd, people started the MVP chant. All of the other white dudes kept giving us the knowing head nod. Yeah … we’re white AND we’re at Love!
This is pretty close to what our last birthday party was like, though rather than an ice sculpture, we had karaoke. That counts, right?
This one comes via my friend Kenny at Worth Repeating, and it’s fabulous. Press play to enjoy eight minutes of 1990 men’s aerobics championship highights as soundtracked by Madonna. The outfits (spandex onesies with white Reeboks and socks) are amazing, the moves unheard of and the facial expressions priceless. Somewhere, Johnny Weir is smiling and extremely switched on.
I have an Arenas Express card with my name on it. There are 7,000 others able to make the same claim but none who value the plastic more. For a night, it was the key into a different world and, forever, proof I was there for Gilbert’s million dollar 25th birthday party. Now, let’s rewind for a minute so you know what I’m on about.
Last Wednesday I had no clue that my favorite baller was turning 25, much less throwing the party of the year at Love in DC. It came across my radar via email from my friend Sev with the great hope that we must attend. And for two days our search remained fruitless; locked out of the house where Diddy would host and hip-hop’s finest were set to perform.
I asked everyone I knew with power and/or connections for help. DC Sports Bog said he was going to his dad’s 60th birthday party that night. Jack Kogod a.k.a. Unsilent Majority had a ticket in hand but none to spare. One guy told me that I didn’t want to go because “it’s all black.” A colleague who used to date Diddy (“pre-J. Lo”) was doing what she could for a blogger. No one came though and all seemed lost until the final, darkest hour.
It was then that my boss (who you may know from his Quite Frankly appearance) came through with an Express card for yours truly. We left it at “meet me there by 11” and off I went, wearing my Super Duper Flyest (“NO Timbs!”) and listening to Clipse along the way. After driving to Northeast, street parking and walking up past Bentleys and Rolls, I was at the source of the spotlights and had arrived at the cross-section of sports and entertainment and politics and money and so many women.
On we went through security and towards the red black carpet and its ice sculpture of Gilbert and dueling Arenas paintings in-progress. With swiveling heads entrance was made into the heart of the beast. We posted up at the bar, trying to get tenderfoot’s attention while surrounded by Redskinettes and girls who mostly looked like Redskinettes.
The first celeb sighting was Etan Thomas, decked out in Super Duper Rastafari. Amidst a crowd of gawkers the warrior poet strolled by and up the stairs to wherever it is 6’10” millionaires disappear to at parties like this. He was quickly followed in and up by Caron Butler and a Tough Juice-worthy entourage of 10.
Amidst blaring hip-hop, revealing women and sunglass-wearing men, Marion Barry limped by with a lady and smile. Upon a throwaway comment that I wanted a picture I found myself arm-in-arm with the most infamous of mayors telling him that he’s a DC icon. It was then that the camera flashed, someone shouted “Look at the white boy!” and memories were made.
After more expensive booze, awkward conversation and a quick meetup with Kogod and his relatively modest entourage, we had to see more of the club. Out we went, back down the black carpet to its conclusion, a large tent with stage where an MC (Doug E. Fresh?) was introducing Arenas in a white suit like none I’ve ever known. Gil reluctantly took the mike before the adoring throng and shared his simple birthday wish: “Everybody get drunk and make bad decisions.” And with roaring approval Agent Zero exited stage right into a night of hanging with Diddy.
We weren’t done reaping the rewards of thetent, as Lil Wayne came on for the first performance of the night and what was probably my first hip-hop show since Tribe Called Quest in ’97. After a half hour of the greatest rapper alive, it was time to go back inside, but the path was blocked as Arenas and Diddy worked the press. Standing five feet from the two supernovas, I was set to hit record and ask Gil whether his party was more phenomenal than his swag, but they were whisked away too soon by handlers and hopeful women.
With the buzz of the evening reaching a high point we rolled back to where we first began, only this time I ran into personal fave Calvin Booth. A photo was taken, pleasantries were exchanged and upward we went to the second and third levels. The second was preferable, as one dude openly smoked a blunt on the dancefloor while the DJ played ‘Walk It Out’ (remix). The third was unfortunate as it seemed like a fancier version of any bar or club in America, although the DJs at most bars aren’t yelling, “Halle Berry and Mariah Carey in the house!”
Back down we wandered, looking for action for fear of missing anything. The night grew long, and Busta Rhymes took the stage. We stalled once again in the circus-like atmosphere of the black carpet: leering men, scurrying women, a naked lady painted as a leopard and Mayor Barry; still smiling and limping around. Towards Busta and his familiar anthems I was pulled, searching for Kogod. As the set wore down and my battery ran low, it was time to leave. Heading for the door, past the drying murals and melting sculptures, I soaked it all in. It was there I met Kogod and company, all smiles and satisfaction (“I touched Diddy!”).
Emerging into the night, away from the dream and through the heavy mist, I passed cars worth more than my whole life. Making my way to the ride of my own, a cab passed by with a girl hanging out the window yelling, “Hey, it’s a cracker ass cracker! Yay, white people!” As apt as that may have been, she’d missed the point of the evening entirely. Gilbert was celebrating his life, his town and his people with considerable style. I was lucky enough to be one of those people, and I have the card to prove it.
Notes on Sunday’s games in the National Basketball Association …
• All Stand For The Slovenian National Anthem. The Lakers stopped the unstoppable Dallas Mavericks 101-98 on Sunday, and who provided the difference? Why none other than Sasha Vujacic, of course, who had the game of his life (16 points) including a go-ahead 3-pointer with 28.5 seconds left. High five! The win ended the glory that was the Mavericks’ 13-game win streak. Vujacic entered the game averaging 3.7 points per game for LA. “I’m really happy for Sasha, how well he played tonight,” said Kobe Bryant, who scored 26 points — 14 in the fourth quarter.
• Or, As Homer Simpson Calls It, ‘America’s Wang’. You know, when all of their parts are in place, the Heat aren’t half bad. Dwyane Wade returned after a four-game vacation (wrist injury, actually) and scored 33 points in Miami’s 93-90 win over Portland. It’s about time something went right in Florida.
• Manu Manu! Don’t Be Afraid! … . We have a strong feeling that the Spurs are just hanging around, biding their time and will end up winning the NBA title, mainly because no one talks about them. Without Tony Parker (right hip strain), San Antonio beat Memphis 110-96 behind Manu Ginobili’s 34 points.
• Leather Has Been Bery Bery Good To Me. In case you forgot, the Suns are really quite good. Leandro Barbosa (26 points) James Jones (25), and Shawn Marion (24) led a 128-105 win over Golden State.
• I’ve Got A Spell On You. By now you know that Larry Brown is back with the 76ers as executive vice president (if they’d done that a month ago they could have kept Iverson, probably. Maybe. No?). But bet you didn’t know Brown’s secret to success. It’s hypnotism.
Another reason YouTube is changing our lives in new and exciting ways: The already infamous Tony Romo fumble moment from Saturday night is being reenacted by spasming lonely fools in their bedrooms. You’re totally wrong, Cuban: YouTube is Allah’s gift to us all!
Anyway, we’re not sure what much more we can say about Mr. Romo’s folly that hasn’t been mentioned already — though we appreciate the Eastern Illinois alumni blog Old Man Vein doing what they can to rally the troops — so we, along with everyone else, wonder what’s next for the plucky soul. If he can’t recover mentally, hey, they could always bring back Chad Hutchinson.
There’s nothing quite like seeing a video game bringing families together, even if the above image does look like a page out of a slightly wacked IKEA catalog. Reader Jim has sent in his own entertaining tale about mom and dad proceeding to get hooked and pwn in Wii Sports, particularly bowling, as you can tell from his dad’s nice form in the above photo.
Our own parental units were never really sucked in by the glitz and polygon counts of the other consoles, so it’s great to see a new generation of gamers getting drawn in by the Wii-novation. Are we every going to declare a moratorium on adding Wii to words? You swear you’ll never do it again, and then *bam* there it is. Wii apologize.
[Thanks, Jim! Check out his upcoming comic book too, nifty stuff.]
Good news! The new Jesus sports statues are in, still piping hot from the kiln and ready for shipping 
The big party last week was, not surprisingly, the 
Notes on Sunday’s games in the National Basketball Association …
