Friday, May 14, 2004
Well the show tomorrow is more or less cancelled. Conflicting schedules kind of put the kibosh on it. The same bands will be playing in the near future at Bloomfield we just have to schedule a date that works for everyone.
We will however still be more than open to denizens of the super city coming over to hang out, socialize, and dance to the music tomorrow night.
"we're having a party...please come"
We will however still be more than open to denizens of the super city coming over to hang out, socialize, and dance to the music tomorrow night.
"we're having a party...please come"
Mackenzie is somewhere in town, but I haven't been able to find him. In order to pay tribute to him I wore my extra large 'Plan' sweat shirt. I was also sporting an oversize full back baseball hat so I promptly decided that this would be real muthafuckin G's night.
I went over to Gerry's and as everyone was slowly arriving I started to laugh to myself. Gerry and Emily asked me what I was laughing at and I responded with "I'm just laughing at the funny incidents I know will happen later on." We then promptly starting shooting off guns of various designs for a while while drinking Faxe. We ingested a steady diet of Nas and Biggie, thus setting the mood. Gerry got in on the act and went for the white Tupac look while I went for the white 50 Cent look. This would make Emily, Lil Kim (like a-duh).
Michael showed up with Faxe for everybody while Rachael showed up with a potato gun and potato ammo. This is what some writers would called foreshadowing. Remember in the Odyssey where the cyclops is all like telling Ulysses that he's going to get fucked up by Poseidon and all this terrible shit is going to go down, that's foreshadowing. I wouldn't know too much about any of that as I haven't read the Odyssey. You would think that you can't get into too much trouble with a potato and an extra can of Faxe, but it is possible.
Both Ainsley and Rachael decided that they had better not come to the Attic. This wasn't going to slow us down.
Michael for whatever reason had stolen Rachael's potato ammo.
I realize right here and now that I could probably link everyone's name to their blogs so you could read about all this marvelous people, but I hate that shit and I'm lazy. So back to the story of a boy and his potato.
Something stupid always always happens before we leave Hunter St, whether it's someone kicking over a garbage can in front of the police or some other minor drama. Last night was no exception.
In one of those 'time was frozen' moments, Michael discharged the potato from his hand and it slowly sailed through the front door of a residence. All our heads turned as we watched the potato crash through through quite a large amount of glass. I think we all outwardly tried to will it away from the door, but were secretly delighted with the resultant smash. In order for the universe to right itself after slowing itself down for so long, time sped up considerably. Gerry ran, Emily ran, I ran, and Michael hobbbled away as he broke a sandal. We cast off our open liquor in our getaway.
In a very Survivor, kill or be killed moment, Gerry, the acting alpha male, informed Michael that there wasn't much chance of him getting into the Attic with merely one sandal. It made sense to Michael and by kismet a taxi appeared out of the night and whisked Michael away.
The three of us soldiered on and were quite relieved to make it to the relative sanctuary of the Commons. I don't really recall too much about the Attic. I know I was there. I know I stumbled around for a while and drank more of Kathy's beer than I should have. I remember leaving the Attic and feeling quite alright until I arrived at Kathy's.
Within 10 minutes of arriving I was holding my head above the toilet while I discharged vicious demons from my stomach. It was a little embarassing to be doing this while Kathy checked to see if I was ok. I mean what do you say to someone who is watching you vomit other than the requisite call of the remorseful drunk "I'm sooooo sorry, soooooo sorry." After dispensing with the apologies I turned to Kathy and I looked into her brown eyes and I said the one thing that had been on my mind all week,
"I hate Chevy Chase!"
I then proceeded to deposit more poison into the toilet.
I went over to Gerry's and as everyone was slowly arriving I started to laugh to myself. Gerry and Emily asked me what I was laughing at and I responded with "I'm just laughing at the funny incidents I know will happen later on." We then promptly starting shooting off guns of various designs for a while while drinking Faxe. We ingested a steady diet of Nas and Biggie, thus setting the mood. Gerry got in on the act and went for the white Tupac look while I went for the white 50 Cent look. This would make Emily, Lil Kim (like a-duh).
Michael showed up with Faxe for everybody while Rachael showed up with a potato gun and potato ammo. This is what some writers would called foreshadowing. Remember in the Odyssey where the cyclops is all like telling Ulysses that he's going to get fucked up by Poseidon and all this terrible shit is going to go down, that's foreshadowing. I wouldn't know too much about any of that as I haven't read the Odyssey. You would think that you can't get into too much trouble with a potato and an extra can of Faxe, but it is possible.
Both Ainsley and Rachael decided that they had better not come to the Attic. This wasn't going to slow us down.
Michael for whatever reason had stolen Rachael's potato ammo.
I realize right here and now that I could probably link everyone's name to their blogs so you could read about all this marvelous people, but I hate that shit and I'm lazy. So back to the story of a boy and his potato.
Something stupid always always happens before we leave Hunter St, whether it's someone kicking over a garbage can in front of the police or some other minor drama. Last night was no exception.
In one of those 'time was frozen' moments, Michael discharged the potato from his hand and it slowly sailed through the front door of a residence. All our heads turned as we watched the potato crash through through quite a large amount of glass. I think we all outwardly tried to will it away from the door, but were secretly delighted with the resultant smash. In order for the universe to right itself after slowing itself down for so long, time sped up considerably. Gerry ran, Emily ran, I ran, and Michael hobbbled away as he broke a sandal. We cast off our open liquor in our getaway.
In a very Survivor, kill or be killed moment, Gerry, the acting alpha male, informed Michael that there wasn't much chance of him getting into the Attic with merely one sandal. It made sense to Michael and by kismet a taxi appeared out of the night and whisked Michael away.
The three of us soldiered on and were quite relieved to make it to the relative sanctuary of the Commons. I don't really recall too much about the Attic. I know I was there. I know I stumbled around for a while and drank more of Kathy's beer than I should have. I remember leaving the Attic and feeling quite alright until I arrived at Kathy's.
Within 10 minutes of arriving I was holding my head above the toilet while I discharged vicious demons from my stomach. It was a little embarassing to be doing this while Kathy checked to see if I was ok. I mean what do you say to someone who is watching you vomit other than the requisite call of the remorseful drunk "I'm sooooo sorry, soooooo sorry." After dispensing with the apologies I turned to Kathy and I looked into her brown eyes and I said the one thing that had been on my mind all week,
"I hate Chevy Chase!"
I then proceeded to deposit more poison into the toilet.
