Oh, My Head!
Oh, god, what a day—a day of waste, recovery, and dull, throbbing pain. My head still hurts, my throat’s a bit sore, my stomach queasy. I’ve had far worse hangovers, of course, though they are now fewer and farther between, but today is definitely one of those days where it just plain hurts to think. Only now, after ten o’clock and a day’s worth of utter sloth, am I not absolutely nauseated by the idea of gazing at a monitor.
But alas, if this is the cost for last night, then I think it was worth the price. Like most good parties, the day-after blow-by-blow will not be readily available, no matter how hard I try to coax it out of the thick, hazy fog of the night before, but I do recall a few of the more tantalizing details.
If memory serves, things started getting pretty interesting right about the time Bell Biv Devoe’s “Do Me” dropped. (Strangely enough, somehow I feel a certain déjà vu feeling about that last statement.) Anyway, this was the first point in my DJ set at which I was forced off-script—the crowd had to have “Poison” too, and who could blame them?
Somebody I know, we’ll call her Jane Doe, passed out suspiciously early, again. More entertainment arrived, in canine form: my 75-pound pit bull Crystal spent all night in high flirtation mode, earning hours of non-stop action from this ultra-cute little Jack Russell terrier, Ziggy. I busted out a wig that ended up a key prop in a hilarious series of photographs, only one of which did my wasted, picture-taking self manage to save.
I remember finishing the rest of the third mix, and then going into full-on, old school hip-hop mode. It wouldn’t be a party if The Chronic wasn’t dusted off, and boy was it! By this point, general inhibitions had long since been cast aside, and much dancing, a bit of Office Space-style white-boy rappin’, and a showing-off of tattoos ensued.
Somebody passed out in the bathroom with her head in the toilet and the door locked and we had to use a hanger to pick the lock. A few minutes later, somebody else came up and asked if it was okay that the dogs were outside…I was like, front or back yard?…he was like, front…I was like, uh, no, that’s SO not okay…turns out, somehow they were halfway down the block…
To top things off, I totally fried my speakers. I mean, they’re utterly worthless now. I didn’t even realize they were blown until that fact was kindly pointed out to me by a number of others…if that tells you anything about my condition at that point. Yet somehow I managed the mental acuity to blow out all the candles and return perishables to the fridge before passing out, not-so-gently into that good night.
This morning I woke up about nine, said goodbye to a few friends who had crashed here, stared vacantly at the television for a few, and promptly returned to bed at 10:30. It was almost four in the afternoon when I woke up again, useless for anything but couch potato-dom and the ingestion of Halls mentho-lyptus.
Had I not turned down that last tequila shot, though, today would have been infinitely worse. And so far, despite the fact that tomorrow is supposed to be the most depressing day of the year, (a date actually calculated by the equation [W + (D-d)] x TQ / (M x NA), in which (W) = weather, (D) = debt, (d) = monthly salary, (T) = time since Christmas, (Q) = time since failed quit attempt, (M) = low motivational levels and (NA) = the need to take action), I’m leaning towards going to work in the morning.
Btw, if you’re not sick of tributes to Johnny Carson, I’ll point you to these two:
A Moment of Silence, for someone who knew what it meant
How to be a gentleman
Playing:
Queens of the Stone Age – s/t
Six Organs of Admittance – School of the Flower
Michael Hurley – Long Journey
Acid Mothers Temple – New Geocentric World of…
Ghost – s/t
Gandalf – s/t
But alas, if this is the cost for last night, then I think it was worth the price. Like most good parties, the day-after blow-by-blow will not be readily available, no matter how hard I try to coax it out of the thick, hazy fog of the night before, but I do recall a few of the more tantalizing details.
If memory serves, things started getting pretty interesting right about the time Bell Biv Devoe’s “Do Me” dropped. (Strangely enough, somehow I feel a certain déjà vu feeling about that last statement.) Anyway, this was the first point in my DJ set at which I was forced off-script—the crowd had to have “Poison” too, and who could blame them?
Somebody I know, we’ll call her Jane Doe, passed out suspiciously early, again. More entertainment arrived, in canine form: my 75-pound pit bull Crystal spent all night in high flirtation mode, earning hours of non-stop action from this ultra-cute little Jack Russell terrier, Ziggy. I busted out a wig that ended up a key prop in a hilarious series of photographs, only one of which did my wasted, picture-taking self manage to save.
I remember finishing the rest of the third mix, and then going into full-on, old school hip-hop mode. It wouldn’t be a party if The Chronic wasn’t dusted off, and boy was it! By this point, general inhibitions had long since been cast aside, and much dancing, a bit of Office Space-style white-boy rappin’, and a showing-off of tattoos ensued.
Somebody passed out in the bathroom with her head in the toilet and the door locked and we had to use a hanger to pick the lock. A few minutes later, somebody else came up and asked if it was okay that the dogs were outside…I was like, front or back yard?…he was like, front…I was like, uh, no, that’s SO not okay…turns out, somehow they were halfway down the block…
To top things off, I totally fried my speakers. I mean, they’re utterly worthless now. I didn’t even realize they were blown until that fact was kindly pointed out to me by a number of others…if that tells you anything about my condition at that point. Yet somehow I managed the mental acuity to blow out all the candles and return perishables to the fridge before passing out, not-so-gently into that good night.
This morning I woke up about nine, said goodbye to a few friends who had crashed here, stared vacantly at the television for a few, and promptly returned to bed at 10:30. It was almost four in the afternoon when I woke up again, useless for anything but couch potato-dom and the ingestion of Halls mentho-lyptus.
Had I not turned down that last tequila shot, though, today would have been infinitely worse. And so far, despite the fact that tomorrow is supposed to be the most depressing day of the year, (a date actually calculated by the equation [W + (D-d)] x TQ / (M x NA), in which (W) = weather, (D) = debt, (d) = monthly salary, (T) = time since Christmas, (Q) = time since failed quit attempt, (M) = low motivational levels and (NA) = the need to take action), I’m leaning towards going to work in the morning.
Btw, if you’re not sick of tributes to Johnny Carson, I’ll point you to these two:
A Moment of Silence, for someone who knew what it meant
How to be a gentleman
Playing:
Queens of the Stone Age – s/t
Six Organs of Admittance – School of the Flower
Michael Hurley – Long Journey
Acid Mothers Temple – New Geocentric World of…
Ghost – s/t
Gandalf – s/t
posted by Jonathan Wright at 12:42 AM EMAIL POST
