A recent Harvard medical study shows that men who drink between 1 1/2 and 3 units of alchohol per day significantly lower their risk of heart attacks. A unit of alchohol is a glass of wine or a pint of beer. It's nice to know that drinking related cardiovascular health is not just for elitists anymore. Read more about this study and other fascinating alchohol related news at Modern Drunkard:
We went to the Secret Bar.
Time for another cracked out period-less post; I think Fodon is right, I should just write really long sentances; how many times do you think you can get away with using a semi-colon? Well with my upbringing, I should be able to pull of something rather Faulknerian-which seems especially appropriate as I have just returned from the insane green valley of my youth, with all of its memories of slow afternoons and dying mules---Well just kidding about the dying mules-As much as my degenerate family may echo Faulkner from time to time, we have never had to contend with a dead mule, only dead toyotas---
Sunday mornign I sat in an apple tree and drank Coors Light with a bunch of kids who I'd known for a minimum of 12 years and up to 27-We threw cans at the people below who had been too slow to snag the last precious beers and were too lazy to climb up the tree and steal them from us-
Now I'm sitting in my room drinking beer and feeling angst ridden and wishing I was still down in Oregon hooking up with random childhood friends instead of having to content with current Seattle drama-I have gotten old enough that with certain friends drama isn't really even drama-we all understand each other and peoples reasons for doing things for things to really escalate-But sometimes understandin what's going on and what other people are feeling enough to relate rationally doesn't exactly make things easier-Sometimes I wish I could just be pissed off or clueless-That's why I'm listening to Nevermind-
Listening to System of a Down. Went to a cheesy mexican joint in the mall with Whiskypants and Thirsty. Drank a bunch of margaritas for lunch.
So I finally find cool people to hang out with, right as I´m leaving. Had a great time last night bar hopping with Will from Tennessee and Jamie from eastern washigton, having all those sorts of great drunken gringo bonding conversations about things like Tron, Flock of Seagulls, Tequila, the brat pack, the rat pack, Edward Norton, bars in portland, and Terry Gilliam movies. However, neither of them had ever heard of Camper Van Beethoven. Why does this matter to me?
music: And You Will Know us by the the trail of dead....
update: so all weekend I dread going back to work on monday only discover that my evil managers have not put me on the schedule at all this week. I have no food, no way to steal food if not at work, and no money to buy food. I also am not sure I can make the rent. The funny thing is all this is rather overshadowed by the fact that I am secretely happy that I don't actually have to work this week. What I am going to do all week with no money and no food is another question, but I've sort of hit my partying threshold lately, so at least I'm not fighting the craving to go out. Partying threshold is a pretty awesome phrase I have to say....I imagine a huge fortress with dark towers. The bottom of the fortress is rooms full of couches and a fridge with maybe a six pack in it, something chill playing on the record player. As you go up floors, the partying escalates. On the roof ministry blares, and Caley is standing there shotgunning beers with a rusty nail while Nathan Hammil mentions that his acid trip is disrupting the weather patterns, Jesse tries to tell me he's actually black, Jimmy Hangover is skulking behind a gargoyle wearing black longeray, Lyn is wearing a fake mustache and sucking on a wedding mint, Kat and Otter are doing the Mexican hat dance, Pohaku is wearing tighty witeys while sitting in a kiddie pool chugging everclear out of a watermelon, Mike Pfaff is trying to engage Utah in the 'punch me in the face ' game, Glassnecktie and Phil are locked into a battle to the death, Bova is ordering a round of Irish Car Bombs, Fodon is pretending to be sober, the anatomist is yelling 'Tequila Malo, Donde Anyejo?', Unhinged is prowling around looking hot and bitching that she wants to make out with someone, Porn Star is yelling about gulags and hitting on some hot eurotrash guy, DJ revolting earwig is green in the face with flock of seagulls hair, Dirtrock is too drunk to work the jukebox, motorpsycho is standing on a battlement screaming some sort of bachanalian sermon to a crowd of awestruck admirers, and Snowball is passed out, cowboy hat on head, tallboy in hand. Above this scene rises some rickety scaffolding. The night is dark and the wind is blowing, and I am perched several hundred feet above the fray looking up and muttering 'Where do we go from here?'
Okay, I owe everyone an apology. I'm sorry. I'm not worthy, I'm scum. I bitch and whine and moan when other people don't post, and then am most egregiously absent for days on end. The wierd thing is that I totally had time to post yesterday, but my mind was completely blank. Maybe it was the valium, maybe it was the hangover...The familiar stirrings of winter depression after a balls to the wall weekend. I guess I'm a little sensitive about writing those 'I'm so awesome, check out what I did' kind of posts, because after me and Utah got back from Mexico (for those of you who don't know, utah is one of my best friends but we kind of hooked up while we were travelling) we used to drunk dial each other and have these conversations that eventually seemed to me to be just us trying to prove to the other person that we were having a good time, that one city and world was superior to the other, etc. I couldn't let him know if I was having a lame time in Seattle, because I felt like he was already so convinced that my life here would be lame and depressing, so our conversations turned into these ' oh yeah, me and my crazy awesome drunk friends did this crazy awesome drunk thing' vs. 'oh really? well my crazier, awesomer, drunker friends did this crazier awesomer even drunker thing'. I know this is a totally different situation, but during the course of that time period I did notice that allot of those crazy awesome drunk times don't actually make very good stories. Its kind of like listening to someone elses dreams...Sometimes its very amusing, but usually only when you are in them. They are, perhaps, best captured in pictures. I think Caley shot a whole role of us drunk in the park on Sunday, and she's promised to give me copies, so maybe I will get the anatomist to scan them for me. Suffice to say, the weekend started at Shorty's on friday and ended up very hungover back at my apartment on monday morning, during which time Caley and Dirtrock and assorted other rotating characters managed to
a) get wasted at hatties
b) drunkenly drive around discovery park with Joey (who was on mushrooms and behind the wheel), stopping so Joey and Dirtrock could skate down the hills in the trucks headlights to a soundtrack of Steve Earl.
c) i then went to work all day saturday
d) get wasted at the whisky bar
e) continue drunken activities at the nightlight
f) get up in the morning and go to Linda's for pitchers of mimosas, after acquiring Jean, who was very fucked up on acid
g) decide bars were boring and go get whisky to drink in the park
f) get wasted in the park with a gay guy named 'precious' and two navy guys who were in charge of a nuclear submarine (whom Dirtrock acquired at Shorty's) and various bike messengers (they'r like cockroaches, once you have one, you soon seem to be crawling with them).
g) Dirtrock got accosted by museum guards who thought he was smuggling japanese artwork out under his jacket, whereupon he had to say 'no, its just my bottle of vodka, dude'.
h) end up back at bill's on broadway to watch sonic games.
i) valium, morphine, jim beam
J) i got some action, but like one night stands always do, it left me depressed. besides I don't think it really counts if its with a bike messenger who has recently been run over by a car.
Weekend too epic to do justice to. I feel like I write much more amusingly about boring things than I do about eventful things. So fuckin' true.
last night I dreamt someone gave me a 'healing human liver'. I was supposed to eat it to make myself feel better, but Utah's ex girlfriends boston terrier (neither girlfriend or boston terrier exist in real life ) kept on jumping up trying to snatch the raw liver from my hands. Finally I escaped to the anatomists room (the anatomist did her usual 'look I rearanged my room for the fifth time this week, doesn't it look cozy?'routine) where I scarfed the liver and chewed it up, spitting out the gristle for the terrier. What the fuck?
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