Sippin' Cris in Compton

As is so often the case when Andrea's little brother John comes to San Francisco, we had a whirlwind weekend. First time he came to town was when I turned 30. After polishing off a bottle of Johnny Walker Gold, sprinting around the lagoon loop with my best bud James, we had a crazy all-day bbq out at Crissy Field. The next day we imbibed a bit up in Wine Country in style, of course. How else would you get around but a stretch Hummer? The second time John came out, Team Will-Pedal-For-Drinks DOMINATED the field at the Wildflower Half Ironman down at Lake San Antonio, CA. John ripped up the field in his first ever open-water swim and Andrea soared through the course like she was floating. The only disappointing part of that was that HE looked better in MY wetsuit than I ever have. One of these visits we'll get John out to SF and just sit on the couch, maybe play some Parcheesi. Last weekend, however, wasn't that visit.

John landed Thanksgiving morning to breakfast carmel rolls. No better magic trick than making 1000 Calories disappear in 2 bites! After hitting the Lyon Steps and cruising for chicks out near Fort Point, he settled in with us for the Thanksgiving Feast that Andrea had prepared. Oh, and we might have drank some champagne, as well.

Friday morning we drove down to LA for the bi-annual Notre Dame Beatdown at the hands of the University of Spoiled Children (USC). Compton is lovely this time of year, let's just say that we weren't the ONLY ones in town with a beer in hand before 7:30am. The day was a blur. After cursing at DirecTV (another fun Thanksgiving tradition!) I got our SatGo to work. We got the grill fired up, the pizzas were assembled, we tapped the keg, ate some cake off the ground, tinkled just a little bit, we called our bookies (those 32.5 points were just too many to give up), we filled wine bottles with beer for a couple spirited games of 'cups', ate some brats, and passed-back bracelets to gain access to the 'A' toilets as if we were 20 trying to sneak into the Boat Club. A complete blur. Tickets were lost. Couples were separated, most were reunited. Oh, and the Irish lost. It was ugly, but with no real hope of winning, it wasn't as disappointing as 2002, 2004, or 2006. Thanks Charlie Weis for lowering our expectations! Yay!

(Side story: we stayed at the same hotel as the USC players. Were we in awe of these goliaths? Not I. My mind was constantly processing which player was most worthy of Gillooly-ing. My eyes were busy looking for dropped steroids needles. Every encounter between a player and a suit was closely monitored, just waiting to see if they would slip up and the flow of cash would be obvious. Brian Cushing was probably the scariest of them all. #10 is a bad man on the field. And if he found out that I was showing everyone this picture of him, I mean, what would he do to me? Would he snap into a 'roid rage? Likely. But then he wouldn't be able to play the next day. That's win-win-win, my friends. I was clearly conflicted.)

After drinking Cris with LenDale White Saturday night (he promised me that he wouldn't rush for more than 200 yards against my Browns the next week.... I'm going to hold you to that, LenDale!) we woke up bright and early for that long, slow, sleepy drive back up to SF, with our tail between our legs. We got a great jump on the day so I decided to take the Wald twins (have you hung out with Andrea and John? Too many similarities to mention... quite scary) to some of my favorite spots up the coast. First we hit La Super-Rica Taqueria in Santa Barbara. John loved his taco, I loved my -fill in the blank Mexican food with meat and sauce and a shell, I think it was the #11-, and we're pretty sure Andrea liked her bottled water. Still doing well on time, and not quite full yet, we swung by the famous Jocko's in Nipomo, CA.

Did we monkey around? What do you think.....?

We got John back to SFO exactly TWENTY-FIVE minutes before takeoff. He tore into the airport, sidestepped security, stiff-armed the ticket taker, and flew back to PHX. Whew!