I think about what she's going through right now in that hospital, and I'm trying to find those points and grooves. I want to feel it. I want them to hurt. But sometimes it's only when the world is a billiard ball that people can truly cry.

Grant says to me, "Can you believe that this is what most of the world looks like?"

It was that kind of rare quiet moment within our non-stop 72-hour party that briefly put things in perspective. Inside that boat, we had amnesia. We were a self-contained paradise taking our sweet time slicing through the ocean at only 5 MPH, eating several gourmet entrees in a sitting, perpetually drinking, constantly screaming and laughing. There was no concept of money. There were no regrets. Even when we took an excursion to the Bahamas, the only world that we knew existed was from the bow to the stern.

And on the last night of the cruise, even some sobering bad news from the outside world that came to me in the form of a cell phone voice message couldn't stop the steady stream of carefreeness -- or shall I say "carefreedom" -- that I felt while smoking a cigar with all my buddies on our private deck. It was my first Cuban, and everything else was equally perfect: I held a whiskey in one hand, Mark and I sang along to my favorite Bob Marley song "Three Little Birds", the mainland approaching in the far distance made us feel like Christopher Columbus, every star in the sky was visible, and as if on cue, I even saw my first shooting star. I didn't feel the need to make a wish.

It was an unforgettable time, but then of course everything about leaving the ship the next morning felt difficult and uncomfortable, especially the goodbyes to the new friends we'd made. You know how awkward it is to spend so much energy and emotion saying goodbye to someone and then you keep bumping into them afterward, like in the lobby, and then in the elevator, and then in the parking lot? And you never know whether you should say goodbye again, or what? Everybody wants to do a decent job saying goodbye, but sometimes when you've had such a great time, it's just not possible.

I thought about this again when the shuttle dropped all of us off to our respective airport terminals and we went our separate ways. I wanted to get it right with Stewart, so in a text message I thanked him again for inviting me out to the bachelor party of a lifetime. I wasn't sure if he would get it before his plane departed, but then he finally replied, "no, thank you. it was the best time ever."

Update: Our cruise ship can't dock at Cape Canaveral so they're forcing us to drive three hours down to Fort Lauderdale to get on the ship. Kinda sucky, but I guess that beats boarding a cruise ship in torrential wind and rain.

But of course everyone frowned whenever I mentioned the idea, so I've decided to instead raise money by starting a contest...

As of this current date I've raised $460, and my goal by the end of September is $750. Donate anything, even one dollar, and I will mail you a thank you card with a personalized rap poem about you written on the inside. Donate the most amount of money to my charity and you'll win:

• foot massage
• blog written about you
• "Cubs Believe" bracelet
• 6-pack of Dharma beer from LOST
• friend for life
• a rare, autographed copy of "My Black Penis"

Sound good? Well then come on people... DONATE!

One hot summer night in 2001 when we were all sunburned and joyriding in downtown Chicago because someone thought we were too old to pick up chicks in the suburbs, I noticed a huge crowd at Grant Park and rolled down my window out of curiosity and heard something I would never forget. You know how you don't often recognize a particular event as a turning point in your life until after the fact, when you can look back and see the precise moment everything changed? But once in a while the turning point is just so big and obvious that you can't miss it?

That was me, sitting in the backseat of a Honda, falling deeply in love with the hypnotic bassline of some song. One minute I'm belching and carefree and cracking jokes with my buddies, the next minute I'm stunned silent, wide-eyed and spellbound. "Yo... what is that?" I kept asking everyone in the car, and someone eventually replied, "I think it's that band that did Creep."

Over the next few years, I couldn't help but become a complete Radiohead-head. I had it so bad for them. Every song from every album was downloaded, including every b-side, every cover song, every remix. Hours were spent perusing all of their fansites. Purposely, I started making less sense when I talked. My default AIM away messages went from "I am away from my computer right now" to "We've got heads on sticks, you've got ventriloquists."

To this day, I still don't understand my intense fascination for Radiohead. It doesn't really make sense on paper. I mean, I grew up on gangsta rap. And it has nothing to do with the fact that they produce the best guitar sound in the world, or that Thom Yorke's unlikely charisma is so affecting, or that even with their impressive body of work they still continue to innovate and push the envelope. I just "get" them, more than even most fans I think. There's something haunting and exhilarating about the music they make, something so special that I've been sitting here staring at this very sentence for ten minutes now, and I still can't come up with words that would do them any justice.

Friday night I finally saw them play live after all of these years, and even though for about five hours it was too hot and I was too close to too many filthy, sweaty strangers, I'm pretty sure it was the greatest, most complete night of my life. Most of the other 75,000 people that were there might have declared the same thing too, the way they went absolutely nuts when Radiohead started playing the song that personally started it all for me, the one I heard in the backseat of my friend's car almost a decade ago: "The National Anthem".

It's hard to pick out the most memorable moment of the set -- although I need to mention how spectacularly eerie "Paranoid Android" got during the mellow third act of the song when everyone slowly swayed their arms in the sky and out of nowhere this cloudy haze somehow enveloped all of us, or the chills everyone felt when Thom Yorke's falsetto broke our hearts with "House of Cards" -- but the best part of the show was when they played "Fake Plastic Trees". I've never been a huge fan of that song, but listening to it live has changed everything for me once again, and I'm not sure how exactly to describe the emotion I was feeling but the best I can do is tell you that I felt this strange sort of pressure on my chest.

There were no tears of happiness, but my sister told me I was close.

Near the end of the song these fireworks at the Field Museum started going off, which surprisingly wasn't distracting at all; somehow, it perfectly enhanced the climax. Later I would find out that it was totally unrelated to the concert and wasn't supposed to synch up to anything at all, which I thought was an amazing coincidence. I couldn't get over how perfect the moment and moments were. Everything was just so aligned, so symmetrical. Everything was in its right place.

Okay. But it's over. Whatever shreds of dignity or self-respect I still had are now finally gone, but it's over. "It's over, man." Gently wrap a blanket around my shoulders as police sirens flash against my bloodied face.

And now I've got to get over the fact that I left Lakeview for this dumpy neighborhood. Sure, our new apartment looks great: high ceilings, granite and stainless steel in the kitchen, wooden floors, etc. But sacrificing my childhood dream of living minutes from Wrigley Field for the opportunity to piss my pants whenever I'm walking home from the Wilson Red Line stop at night? I don't know about this. I've now realized that whenever people describe a neighborhood as "exciting and diverse", it's really just a euphemism for "ghetto".

Come on Uptown, hurry up and gentrificate! Gentrificate!!

"I think I've explained this before."

"Just shut up."

"It's impossible for me to give general advice."

"Because you're such an individual."

"You were listening."

"Now you listen. I want to take the next step with Adrian."

"You know, that's the thing about unisex names. I totally thought Adrian was a woman for a long time."

"And that just drove you wild, I bet."

"Lesbians are things I see on TV. I've never seen one in nature."

"You've seen plenty."

"What do you mean, next step?"

"I mean turn it up a notch. I want to let him know that it's serious, I'm serious, let's get serious."

"My male perspective is getting uptight already."

"Now what's that supposed to mean?"

"Just tell me how you plan to go about this."

"Well that's what I need to ask you. Let's say, by some miracle, you're involved in a relationship."

"My head hurts."

"And let's say you've been with this girl for, say, two months."

"Yeah. Hypothetically."

"So two months. Things are great, you've moved through the bliss stage and now you've fallen in love with the little annoying things."

"Fallen in love?"

"You're getting ahead of me. Okay, everything's going nice and easy, and you're ready to take it to the next level."

"See, here's your problem. You see things in terms of levels. That's all too orderly. You should just let it flow from one thing to the next."

"We'll never get anywhere if I do that. This won't be laissez-faire. I want to sit him down and lay down the facts, you know? Slap it down, right there out in the open."

"'Adrian, I love you.'"

"'I love you.'"

"'I love you and what are you going to do about it?'"

"Basically."

"Don't you see the horror in an announcement like that?"

"No, I don't. I'm being honest. I'm not playing games. I hate when couples are all coy and it's like some big game of hide and seek."

"You say that and he'll high-tail it."

"Shut up."

"He'll bolt."

"You wouldn't want to hear I love you?"

"At this point, no."

"Why not? It's good news. It's what we all want."

"Sure. But if you sit him down... where was this going to take place? You have some plan in mind? Here, later on today? Over coffee?"

"I don't have a big plan. You make me sound so diabolical."

"Were you going to slip it into the conversation? Winging it doesn't sound like you."

"I figured I would know. Maybe during some quiet time."

"Day or night?"

"Night."

"Out or in?"

"At his place."

"I see hints of a plan!"

"He'd feel more comfortable there. We'd be watching TV or something."

"No TV. Stick to the quiet time. The TV could distract him. You can't say I love you during a Cubs game."

"If you knew how we were together, you wouldn't make such a big deal."

"You're the one making the big deal. And if you're so sure, why bother asking me about all this? I was happy and carefree."

"Role playing. 'Adrian, things have been going really great. I've been really really happy. I'm really glad we found each other.'"

"'Uh huh.'"

"He wouldn't say uh huh. Pretend you're sensitive and beautiful and you have your shit together."

"'Your skin shimmers in the moonlight.'"

"'And I just wanted to say, well, you're very important to me. And I love you, blah blah.'"

"Blah blah?"

"Well I feel dumb saying this to you. But just imagine Jessica Alba saying all that to you. You'd go nuts."

"It's making an issue out of everything. It's putting it all into words. But the bad part is you'll be forcing an answer out of him. It'll be this controlled experiment."

"He can say what he wants. That's the point. I'm being honest and I want him to be honest too."

"I've never met him, but I'm going to assume he's from this planet and if you say I love you he's going to have to say it back. Whether he's ready or not."

"There's this big thing in our way. I'm just getting it out of the way."

"Who kissed who first?"

"I kissed him."

"And this fiery sexual encounter you've discussed ad nauseam?"

"That was a joint decision."

"So it's his turn to do something big."

"I'll go crazy. I'll drag this relationship into hysteria."

"I have spoken."

"I'm going to see him right now. You're paying for this crap."

"You didn't even eat your muffin."

7/21, 2:48pm: Forgot to mention, as I emptied out my pockets before walking through the metal detector at the airports I discovered $30 in uncashed chips. Guess that means I'll have to return to Vegas so that they're not completely worthless. Next year!

7/21, 5:29am: At McCarran, anxiously waiting for our flight out of here. Fun weekend, but I'm ready to go home.

7/20, 8:10pm: I meant blackjack.

7/20, 8:08pm: Burning $160 feels great when it's foie gras, a porterhouse steak, and banana cream pie. Not so great when it's bj.

7/20, 11:14am: It's... raining outside?!

7/20, 9:51am: You know you've been in Vegas too long when instead of saying "No, thanks" to the bartender who's asking if you want another, you wave your hand over the table like you're standing in blackjack.

7/20, 9:34am: Having a Scotch at the bar at 9:30 in the morning. That's how bad things got at the blackjack tables last night.

7/20, 2:10am: For some reason I always get "busting a nut" mixed up with "popping a cap." Aaaanyway, that stripper is dead.

7/19, 11:25pm: Saw Aries Spears perform at the Improv at Harrah's, but stopped laughing when I realized he plagiarized some of his act from Russell Peters.

7/19, 2:39pm: New career idea as a scam caricaturist: Xerox big head with buck teeth, draw in hair, and if applicable, glasses.

7/19, 11:25am: I wouldn't be surprised if any minute now Larrballs got tapped on the shoulder by Laurence Fishburne, who says "Come with me," then drags him into a cavernous basement for questioning.

"You're counting cards, aren't you, scum?"

"What? No..."

"Then why did you double down on 12 and stand on 8??"

::sniff:: "I don't know! I don't know what I'm doing!"

::puts on brass knuckles, punches Larrballs::

"LIAR!!!!"

7/19, 10:21am: Larrballs doubled down on 12 and got a 9, dazzling everyone at our table. His net winnings so far this trip is $173. Me, I'm up $50.

7/19, 7:36am: What does it mean when you wake up from a dream about officiating a mudwrestling match between Bette Midler and Joy Behar from The View, and you totally can't tell them apart? I'm asking for a friend.

7/19, 2:07am: Larrballs, who repeatedly hits on 17 in Blackjack, is up $115. Meanwhile I'm trying to talk myself off this ledge.

7/18, 6:13pm: $185 for a deep-tissue massage I can understand, even though Heather looked more like an "Olga" to me, and breathed loudly like she was somehow snoring while awake... but $7 for a plastic bottle of Miller Lite???

7/18, 1:17pm: Watched The Dark Knight about an hour ago and I'm still dancing with the devil at the pale of moonlight. Best movie this decade, and Heath Ledger deserves a posthumous Oscar.

7/18, 9:20am: Saw former Illini guard Dee Brown at the McDonald's at the Palms Casino. He ordered an Egg McMuffin, gave the cashier a $20, and she held it into the light to make sure it wasn't a fake. I introduced myself to him as The Greatest Asian Basketball Player in the history of the universe, and he laughed. Then he took a picture with me! Heehee! I'm so giddy!

7/18, 1:14am: Stared longingly at a craps table at the Bellagio, then decided to play the slots for no good reason. Lost $15 in two minutes. Vegas draws first blood...

7/17, 8:44pm: In Denver, connecting to Vegas. Waiting for them to ask us to board. Our flight number is 187. Guess what Snoop lyric I'm going to sing right when we're taking off??

I smiled. "I'm gonna miss our talks too, Jessie. But I'll drop by and say hello whenever I'm in the neighborhood, I promise."

"Naw man," Jessie replied, giving me the who farted? look. "I ain't even talkin' 'bout you. I'm sayin' it's a damn shame I ain't gon' get ta see dem girly friends of yours again!"

Jessie was referring to my friends Angie and Marci who came to visit me a couple weekends ago. At my urging, they flirted with him for a bit in my apartment lobby before we left for the bars. Angie made sure to hang some cleavage over Jessie's desk, and Marci spoke softly with her epiglottis open the whole time, the way Marilyn Monroe did when she sang "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" to JFK. It made his entire night.

I thought it was a good idea at the time, but then he wouldn't stop bugging me about them. "When they gon' be back, Mr. Pete?" he'd yearningly ask days later, and: "I think the shorter one was feelin' me, whatchu think?" and: "You think they aight wit' an old black man?"

So I gave him Marci's phone number and told him to quit asking me if he had a chance and to just go do something about it. Jessie got very nervous at the idea.

"What I'mma say? What kinda man she like?"

I decided not to tell Jessie about Marci's fetish for indifferent sleepy-eyed jerks. "Make her laugh. She likes a man that can make her laugh."

Then I coached him for a good ten minutes on what kind of jokes he could say over the phone to her. "She's a nurse, right, so I think it's a good idea to execute a joke related to her profession. Like: 'What do you do when your patient has an epileptic seizure in the bathtub? Throw your laundry in quick!' Dude, Jessie, say this to her and it will pretty much lead to phone sex!"

...

A day later, after a creeped-out Marci threatened me with a few angry messages over Facebook, I checked in with Jessie to see how he thought the phone call went.

"Shhhiiiiieeeettt...." Jessie said, giggling with a sly look on his face. When Jessie says "shiiiet" like that, it only means something good.

"I think she likes me. I think I done made her fall in love wit' me."

I was so proud of him.

"Perfect," I said, pulling out my iPhone, "now smile for the camera." By now I had already decided that I needed to blog about him.

"You gon' show this to Marci?" Jessie asked, putting on a fedora he had kept hidden under his desk.

I nodded and took the picture, then waved goodbye and walked towards the elevator.

"Aiyyo Mr. Pete!" Jessie yelled a few seconds later. I stopped in my tracks and spun around. "Take another one, this time without muh glasses."

"You look sharp, dude."

"Aw hell naw, f'real? Better than Ursher?"

"Better than Usher. Now don't forget to call her again tomorrow. She's waiting for you to holler back."

"Shhhiiieeettt...." Jessie said, smiling ear to ear.

This really sucks for me because the moving process makes me just want to break shit. Literally. I remember during one move I was singlehandedly dragging this cheap crappy desk down the stairs and it started to rain on me when I got outside -- because it rains every single time I move, unless it's snowing! -- and the desk began to buckle and I said something like "Aw, screw this desk forever!!" and karate kicked it apart and threw it near the garbage cans and just bought a new cheap crappy desk after I moved.