kid 'n play
Sometimes I miss going out. Not always, but definitely on crisp early fall evenings when even New York City smells and feels like the Midwest on a football Saturday.
Nick S. was in town this weekend and he and PBdotC and company went and drank down a few over in the East Village. I was invited. But I got home at like 11, collapsed in a heap and dreamed fucked up dreams about work and dying and maybe a little bit about my lost moustache. I missed the bar.
I miss the bar.
Aside: a guy stood up during the Colorado-San Diego tiebreaker game tonight and he had a shirt on with huge-ass letters going down the side:
A
B
E
R
C
R
O
M
B
I
E
I didn't hate him or nothin'...but I thought to myself, man, that guy and me could never, ever be friends. Like if he was my friend and he bought that shirt, even if he had a pretty good reason, I would probably have to stop being friends with him. That would be it: the proverbial letter to Urkel* certifying the end of our relationship as humans.
End of aside.
Anyway, I miss going out so much sometimes. Maybe it's 'cause I'm feeling old; I just got the invite to my 20 year HS reunion this weekend (anybody going?). Maybe it's 'cause going out is fun as hell.
The Bar, sure. But The House Party, oh The House Party. That's what it's all about. You're never more alive than when you're at The House Party. The only limits on your good time are your imagination and your ability to inspire stupidity in others. And eventually the unwelcome arrival of the morning sun with its sack of daggers.
I hopped out of a cab that night, the night I almost made it out to the bar, and there were like seven young people spilling loudly out of the apartment building next to mine. They were drunk but they were gonna get drunker.
"Where is it again?" one of them asked.
"14th and 7th," another answered.
Two cabs lined up perfectly for them like chariots and since they were young and drunk and getting drunker they didn't even take the time to appreciate how good they had it. There were like four dudes and three girls and you knew that meant one of the dudes was gonna end up being the extra dude at 4 in the morning and they probably already knew who he was but it was 11 o'clock and the night stretched out ahead of them like a water slide full of possibilities and who had time to be lonely or angry when The House Party was already in full swing on 14th and 7th?
They knew that 4 in the morning was still a ways off. And even though they were young they already knew a lot of the many things that can change between now and then.
I miss The House Party. I miss the moment where you walk in and you look around and half-wonder if it's gonna be lame while knowing damn well in the back of your mind that the only way it's gonna be lame is if you let it be lame and there's no way that'll happen. I miss glaring at the asshole in the corner who thinks he's really funny. I miss being that asshole. I miss losing my beer cup, giving up and grabbing another. I miss meeting new people and trying to entertain them with my tired old stories. I miss discovering pearls of Midwestern wisdom like, "Johnson, Party of One" and "I don't drink anymore...I don't drink any less..." and "I wish I had a horse's cock...instead of this big thing." I miss girls chewing tobacco and guys on crutches with crazy stories and I even miss the fear accompanying the moment when you realize you've pissed off an NFL offensive lineman. I miss lying about who I am to strangers for no reason and fake New Year's Eve countdowns at 11:47 and beating the same joke senselessly into the ground until you're the only one who still thinks it's funny.
I miss the beer and the conversations screamed into each other's ears, as private as whispers. The crappy songs and the fight over the stereo and the guy who lives there eventually telling you you gotta go man. And I miss the triumph of talking yourself back in.
* This reference is to an underrated SNL skit from the mid-90s in which a bunch of office workers sneak into their co-worker's empty apartment to give him a surprise party. When they get there, they find all sorts of creepy shit in his pad, including a blowup sex doll with the face of his female co-worker attached to it, and a fan letter the dude was apparently preparing to send to Urkel. They are so repulsed by the stuff they find that they decide to leave. Just as they are about to walk out the door, the guy comes home and is excited to see his friends. They insist on leaving, but he won't hear it. He's all, "Come on, guys, hang around," and they are like, "Nah, man...this is weird," but he keeps insisting they stay until one of them finally grabs him and says, "Look, we found your letter to Urkel." The guy still looks unconvinced, so the dude shakes him again and says, with immacculate comic timing, "We FOUND...your LETTER...to URKEL." As in, the jig is up. please never speak to any of us again, don't you fucking understand? Does anyone remember this sketch? I can find no mention of it on the internets. It was funny. Nearly as funny and underappreciated as "Connie Stinson Talks"-- which is now, finally, gloriously, likely temporarily, available on YouTube.
Nick S. was in town this weekend and he and PBdotC and company went and drank down a few over in the East Village. I was invited. But I got home at like 11, collapsed in a heap and dreamed fucked up dreams about work and dying and maybe a little bit about my lost moustache. I missed the bar.
I miss the bar.
Aside: a guy stood up during the Colorado-San Diego tiebreaker game tonight and he had a shirt on with huge-ass letters going down the side:
A
B
E
R
C
R
O
M
B
I
E
I didn't hate him or nothin'...but I thought to myself, man, that guy and me could never, ever be friends. Like if he was my friend and he bought that shirt, even if he had a pretty good reason, I would probably have to stop being friends with him. That would be it: the proverbial letter to Urkel* certifying the end of our relationship as humans.
End of aside.
Anyway, I miss going out so much sometimes. Maybe it's 'cause I'm feeling old; I just got the invite to my 20 year HS reunion this weekend (anybody going?). Maybe it's 'cause going out is fun as hell.
The Bar, sure. But The House Party, oh The House Party. That's what it's all about. You're never more alive than when you're at The House Party. The only limits on your good time are your imagination and your ability to inspire stupidity in others. And eventually the unwelcome arrival of the morning sun with its sack of daggers.
I hopped out of a cab that night, the night I almost made it out to the bar, and there were like seven young people spilling loudly out of the apartment building next to mine. They were drunk but they were gonna get drunker.
"Where is it again?" one of them asked.
"14th and 7th," another answered.
Two cabs lined up perfectly for them like chariots and since they were young and drunk and getting drunker they didn't even take the time to appreciate how good they had it. There were like four dudes and three girls and you knew that meant one of the dudes was gonna end up being the extra dude at 4 in the morning and they probably already knew who he was but it was 11 o'clock and the night stretched out ahead of them like a water slide full of possibilities and who had time to be lonely or angry when The House Party was already in full swing on 14th and 7th?
They knew that 4 in the morning was still a ways off. And even though they were young they already knew a lot of the many things that can change between now and then.
I miss The House Party. I miss the moment where you walk in and you look around and half-wonder if it's gonna be lame while knowing damn well in the back of your mind that the only way it's gonna be lame is if you let it be lame and there's no way that'll happen. I miss glaring at the asshole in the corner who thinks he's really funny. I miss being that asshole. I miss losing my beer cup, giving up and grabbing another. I miss meeting new people and trying to entertain them with my tired old stories. I miss discovering pearls of Midwestern wisdom like, "Johnson, Party of One" and "I don't drink anymore...I don't drink any less..." and "I wish I had a horse's cock...instead of this big thing." I miss girls chewing tobacco and guys on crutches with crazy stories and I even miss the fear accompanying the moment when you realize you've pissed off an NFL offensive lineman. I miss lying about who I am to strangers for no reason and fake New Year's Eve countdowns at 11:47 and beating the same joke senselessly into the ground until you're the only one who still thinks it's funny.
I miss the beer and the conversations screamed into each other's ears, as private as whispers. The crappy songs and the fight over the stereo and the guy who lives there eventually telling you you gotta go man. And I miss the triumph of talking yourself back in.
* This reference is to an underrated SNL skit from the mid-90s in which a bunch of office workers sneak into their co-worker's empty apartment to give him a surprise party. When they get there, they find all sorts of creepy shit in his pad, including a blowup sex doll with the face of his female co-worker attached to it, and a fan letter the dude was apparently preparing to send to Urkel. They are so repulsed by the stuff they find that they decide to leave. Just as they are about to walk out the door, the guy comes home and is excited to see his friends. They insist on leaving, but he won't hear it. He's all, "Come on, guys, hang around," and they are like, "Nah, man...this is weird," but he keeps insisting they stay until one of them finally grabs him and says, "Look, we found your letter to Urkel." The guy still looks unconvinced, so the dude shakes him again and says, with immacculate comic timing, "We FOUND...your LETTER...to URKEL." As in, the jig is up. please never speak to any of us again, don't you fucking understand? Does anyone remember this sketch? I can find no mention of it on the internets. It was funny. Nearly as funny and underappreciated as "Connie Stinson Talks"-- which is now, finally, gloriously, likely temporarily, available on YouTube.
posted by hans q. bungle at 01:37
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