Thanks to Mary Beth, we've got a few new photos to share. You rock, MB!
Ah, the Roses. So moist. So happy.
Susie, Beej, Tiff and MB. Party up top, foamy party down below.
Kevin is so blissfully happy, standard photography cannot properly capture him.
Another year, another pantless Hicks.
Upon seeing her pantsless son, Katie's brain exploded out the back of her head.
If this crew doesn't spell T-R-O-U-B-L-E, I don't know what does.
Over at the next stop, what's know in horseracing circles as the traditional starting sip.
And Tiff is out of the gate! That's my girl!
Deck #1: Team Friend/Teepe were kind enough to take us to Bourbon Street. Tragically, I have no photos from that gathering. Suffice to say, if they choose to keep the postlamp/street sign that they had attached to their deck, that'd be totally kickass. That was sweet. Also sweet? MB's bourbon slushes. Good lord, those were heavenly. I later learned that they were low octane, in order to keep everyone upright for a while. Had I known that, I would've slammed four of those. I'd love to try the high-test grade sometime. You know, just for comparison. And I'd be remiss if I didn't swoon over the jumbalaya. Best stuff ever. I could eat that every day and twice on Sunday.
Deck #2: The Radtke's and Dames' (new players) went south of the border. Thank goodness, they put on quite a feast of Mexican delights (because I knew that the next stop was a food-free zone), as well as some kickin' margaritas. Their new patio was gorgeous and the glorious weather helped to make that stop a beautiful one (albeit short one for Hicks and me, as we had to prep for the next stop). Again, if anyone has photos to share, please send them over.
Deck #3: Hicks' Pub Player's Club. Okay for this, I do have a few photos to share...
As always, there has to be a theme and supporting logo. Mmm...blingy.
Here's my player.
And here is his Club...a foam bar.
The foam spilleth over.
Foam went high.
Very high. The top of that sign is about 7' up.
This is Bruce. Bruce makes foam. Lots of foam. Bruce promised fun.
Garments were surrendered.
The place rocked. Loudly.
Short people got lost, but were later recovered.
Folks with soapy legs sought respite in the yard. The camera lens is a bit hazy, due to, duh, foam.
Here's the boss telling the yard-dwellers to get their asses back into the foam. He's not paying for them to stand in the boring backyard.
So they obediently flock back in. They're such good guests. God love 'em.
Deck #4: The DeCurtins/Roses went to the races. The horse races. People raced and drank mint julips. There was a mighty spread of food up on the deck, but I cannot report on that, as I did not venture up there. This is what I walked in on (after a brief clean up session in the Fort):
Note the festive horse heads on the racers...very Godfather. Also note the beer cans scattered about on the race course...a blatant violation of racing rules being completely ignored by the neighborhood racting federation. Hicks clearly didn't want to be saddled with heavy, soap-ladened shorts (sniff, the underwear tradition proudly continues). MB is all business, adopting the sprinter's stance; not often seen in horseracing. Katie doesn't know what to make of this mutant human/equine mess.
...and they're off!
MB's showy start comes back to bite her as she nearly loses her head. Meanwhile, Katie jumps to a quick lead; partly due to the starter whipping her with the starting flag. Again, VIOLATION!
Race fans marvel at this stallion's long gait.
And Katie rounds the last turn and strides easily to a victory!
Deck #5: The Louisos celebrates Christmas in July. A very festive time indeed! And nothing says "Merry Christmas" more than a late-night toilet plunger relay. My photos were worthless, but fear not, this video comprehensively tells the tale...as does Lakin's narration.
Again, a great time was had by all and a hearty thanks to those who organized and participated!
Hicks' Pub Christmas party - 2010 version.
I know it's February. I've been too busy shoveling the driveway every damned day this winter to tinker with the site. Nonetheless, it's time to go into the (not so) Wayback Machine and explore the yuletide festivities.
First of all, a little explanation is in order: springboarding from the Deck Crawl/Frat House debacle over the summer (see below), Hicks wanted the Christmas Party to reflect a more subdued, respectful, genteel atmosphere. He encouraged the men to don sweather vests, blue oxford shirts and khaki pants (i.e. when frat boys dress up for Parents Weekend). You get the picture. Armed with that knowledge, on to the photocap:
Not to be outdone, the ladies took it upon themselves to doll up.
Meanwhile, some of the guys chose to robe it...a clear act of rebellion. Hicks didn't take offense. He simply made those who didn't comply drink a shot of jagermeister and all was forgiven.
If awards were given for "Best Impersonation of a Slovenly Drunken Uncle," Tom would've won this, hands down.
There were more robes here than at a porno sound stage.
Later, though, Tom gussied up and posed with his fellow fraternity brothers.
People also hung out in the Beer Fort, which kept the Pub from being overcrowded.
We used to have an Adorable-o-meter. These jokers went and broke it.
This is Tom's normal reaction whenever he sees Adam Clayton (U2's bass player) on the TV. He then darts to the bathroom and hurls.
There was much dancing throughout the night. Here's Patti with Lennertz. His shirt is half-untucked. Must be around 8:30.
See? Social boundaries are non-existent. It's like Disneyland. Or prison.
"Dee, look at those boys over there. They're dancin'."
"Yeah, Rob. I'm lookin'. What a bunch of jackholes."
Rob: "I'ma gonna get me summa that action! C'mere, Hicks!"
Dee: "Aw, geez."
"Hey, Barenaked Ladies is playing my song! Circle 'round, girls, while I bust it out!"
Lennertz is in his undershirt. Must be 8:45...
"Hicks, did you see BJ takin' pictures of us dancin'?"
"Yeah, she's already got it posted on the internet. See?"
Another yuletide tradition – the conga line around the pool table...little known fact: the shepherds did the same thing to celebrate Jesus' birth.
There's Laura, rockin' it shepherd-style.
Alysha mentally prepares to channel her inner-Michael. The boys are rapt with anticipation of the impending show.
"Ah shit. It's about time for me to school Alysha in the art of Michael."
"See, Alysha, you need to squat down like you're going to drop a pile in the middle of the room."
"Lower, honey. It doesn't count until you throw your hip completely out of its socket. Fortunately, your jeans are tight enough to pop it back into place before any permanent damage is done."
"At the end, you go down on your knees and thank Michael's mother and father for bringing him into this world. That's what brings it all home."
You know it's a good party when Rob busts out his George Jefferson move.
"Ah, Nels, it's been a great night...Hicks danced with everything that had legs; Lennertz didn't strip all the way down to his bare skin; I showed Alysha how to dirty dance; no one ralphed. It's all good."
First Annual Deck Crawl - July 2010.
I know it's February and I'm about to recap something that happened last summer. But, honestly, I may have allowed the extra stretch in time in order to fully recover from that day. Yeah, it was THAT good.
But first, what's a Deck Crawl? Well, if you're not familiar with the concept of a pub crawl, then you need to STOP and exit this site right now. That's right - take your wholesome values, your Miss Manners book, your sleeve of bland rice cakes, your Kenny G CD and go find somewhere else to read...
...Okay, for the rest of you hipsters, the Deck Crawl consisted of 5 venues, all within 500 feet of our house, well within a comforable stumbling range. Each deck had a one hour time slot and the party moved every hour, on the hour. It was a comprehensive exercise in people-herding.
First up, the DeCurtins/Rose Tiki Party (6:00 - 7:00):
The group is calmly, quietly gathering. Polite chit chat, steel drum music plays in the background. Quite serene.
Young Jon, the co-host of this leg of the Crawl, is rockin' the mangey 'fro, mon, as he offers a ceremonial lei to Ralph, the Tiki god of bountiful drink.
Meanwhile, a volcano smoulders bitterly nearby. It's not getting the love like Ralph, and it is displeased.
Tom and Patti, the other co-hosts, pose adorably in front of Ralph. Tom is clearly not 100% invested in the festive, care-free theme, as his Bengals cap is a tragic reminder that hometown reality sucks.
Another requirement of the event is that, at the end of every leg, a group photo is taken. This exercise is helpful to document attendence/fallen comrade body count.
On to the next venue (7:00-8:00)...the Beer Fort, which has been converted to a frat house. Note the authentic decor: shitty lawn chairs, fast food trash and assorted empties strewn about the yard. The banner on the Fort reads, "Rush Eta Beta Phi." Greek educational lesson: Eta Beta Phi = HBF = Hicks' Beer Fort.
Frat activities are on display - the obligatory beer bong. Sidenote: why is Hicks' in a robe? The theme is Old School Frat Party, in which Hicks is embracing the essence of Frank the Tank. What is under Hicks' robe? Stay tuned, gentle reader...
Someone is about to pop, and it ain't the girl in the red shirt. Seriously, Scott could be a poster child for high-blood pressure. Dude, breathe!
With his beer bong duties completed, our intrepid host has moved on to the Flip-Cup table for another demonstration of how the kids drink these days.
Once again, the group shot/hard evidence is taken. And all is well. And dry.
But when Sophie is near water, no one is ever safe. A few victims "fell" into the pool at this point. Thankfully, Hicks has his robe on to cover up.
Wha...? My eyes! MY EYES!!!!
Awww, such a precious mother/son moment. Look at Katie, bursting with pride of how her one-legged boy has overcome adversity.
Tom, what are you measuring with your fingers? Or is that the universal sign for, "I'd like another cocktail weenie, please."?
Ah, the third leg of the evening, hosted by the Friends/Tepees, is coming to a close and is successfully documented.
The fourth leg of the Crawl, hosted by the Fulmers and Ackermans, started on a rather moist note. Click here for visual evidence. Yeah, you DO have to take that extra step if you're curious. It's not something you see every day.
Ahem, moving on...
Who's enjoying the Deck Crawl? Raise your hand extra high!
After the required group photo, it's time to move on to the final leg. The ease of crowd movement enjoyed earlier in the day has been reduced to a more laborous, trudging effort; no doubt caused by the tectonic plates shifting within the Earth, making the streets to narrow and sway. Or by copious amounts of alcohol consumed over the course of several hours. Tomat-o, tomah-to.
Deck Crawl destination #5 - The Louiso Compound. I regret that we don't have many photos from this stage of the night. Needless to say, the hosts looked FABULOUS with their '60's retro theme. It. Was. Amazing. They even had a gorgeous pimped-out car parked in the driveway. It was top-notch.
It was so cool, even the kids wanted to dress up and hang out.
Look at Rob "Pimp-Daddy" Louiso! Snoop Dog only wished he looked this fly. After several hours of hard-partying, it's not fair for someone to look this good.
Catch my drift?
Many thanks for Young Jon for organizing the Deck Crawl. It is an outstanding event and we're very excited for the 2011 edition!.
The French Invasion.
There's a French woman who has invaded my friend Patti's life, and in her quest for global domination, has invaded our lives as well. Her name is Sophie. Sophie is a beautiful young woman, inside and out. Which, I reckon, is why Patti has cottoned to her so. Sophie is quiet (because she's still figuring out the English language), smart, and very VERY mischevious. Even though she's unaware of this, I watch her very closely and can always tell when she's about to strike. There's a certain light that comes to her eyes about 3 seconds before she does something. 3 seconds, you see, is long enough for me to register that something is about to happen...and it's short enough that I don't have to warn the victim if I don't want to...which I never do, because I want to watch Sophie at work.
I'm not at all implying that the French are untrustworty, but IF Sophie is around and IF Sophie likes you and feels comfortable around you, WATCH OUT. She's a trickster and an instigator (a quality trait that dominates a certain husband I know, not that I'm naming names).
Please note that they are both wet...because Sophie is not above shoving fully clothed people into nearby pools. Repeatedly.
Which then leads to Exhibit B:
Yes, children get involved. Fully clothed. Note the horror, resentment and general hatred of the French on Patti's face. It's brutal.
Then Tom (Patti's husband) wanders onto the scene, "Whasssup? Wait, no. No."
It is immediately evident that Tom has two choices at hand: he can go into the pool, Sophie's way or he can enter the pool voluntarily. Either way, Tom = wet.
And so, Tom chooses Option 2 (with a splash of panache):
Note that the power of the French is such that Sophie was not even in the vicinity of Tom when he committed aquatic hari-kari. She's THAT good.
Meanwhile, Tiffany enjoyed her temporary Cloak of Unfamiliarity, as Sophie had just met her moments prior.
That safety device has long since expired and Tiff is now as vulnerable as the rest of us.
I remained safe, as I had Ahnold (see story below) in my hands and Sophie is #3 (code for "I'm French, not stupid.").
And where was Hicks? He was on a plane coming home from India. Via Paris.