I had been beating my head against a brick wall for the past several weeks at work, so I welcomed the call from the Redneck Liaison and his wife inviting me out to Oblio's Pizzeria (6115 East 22nd Avenue), a quaint pizza place in Park Hill. It was raining that night, so the only thing on the patio was a yellow lab puppy that -- in the brainless, bulletproof fashion of this wonderful breed -- had twisted its leash around so many chairs it couldn't move. While the Liaison's wife hopped the fence and undid the leash, the Liaison and I took a hands-off approach. We knew that as soon as the lab was disentangled, he'd get himself into a worse predicament. Plus, most of the patrons inside Oblio's were watching us through the windows and looked ready to attack us as serial dognappers.
But the situation defused rapidly, and we were allowed to take a corner table near the kitchen. I think the Liaison and I went straight after the Maker's Mark and Coke, but am somewhat unsure: The drinks were so powerful that I suffered a paroxysm of coughing and spluttering and couldn't see straight until I'd gotten the first one down. By then, my tastebuds were dead, but I was feeling much better about life in general and realized that the only thing missing from this wonderful mix of friends, beer and liquor was pizza. And then we got our menus.
The menus came inside an assortment of Olivia Newton-John album covers. I was immediately transported back to 1981, when "Physical," possibly the worst song ever made, hit the airwaves. But regardless of the horrendous nature of that song, every guy who was nearing puberty at that point remembers just how hot Olivia was then. We'd fallen in love with her -- but weren't sure why -- after being seduced by the slutty allure of Sandy in Grease. So watching the "Physical" video, complete with a sweaty Sandy with short hair dancing around with a bunch of sweaty fat guys who, through the magic of a bad song, were transformed into sweaty skinny guys, made us as uncomfortable as Lamar Latrell did in Revenge of the Nerds.
But the Olivia Newton-John diversion lasted only a matter of minutes, and we quickly got back to the business of ordering, then devouring, several more Maker's and Cokes (at a very steep price), what may have been the sloppiest wings of all time (swimming in a sea of buffalo sauce, and delicious), and very meat-intensive thick-crust pizza.
We walked out of Oblio's satisfied, with a buzz strong enough to overcome the enriched-uranium density of its pizza. The Institute highly recommends that you stop by this joint to get your Recommended Daily Allowance of comfort, pizza, beer, liquor and Olivia Newton-John. I don't care how bad she was in Xanadu; I'll always love Sandy.