hung over� hung over� hung over�
hangovers follow physical law� hangovers are what takes the place of all those fuzzy details you just can't quite remember from the night before� hangovers are the equal and opposite reaction to a good time� physics� it's all about physics�
Last night I went to a birthday gathering for The Silent One � a poet friend. Tortilla Flats � a Mexican restaurant off Hope Street � is really a bar with tables. I got there a half hour early and spent too long trying to get a beer. Every spot at the bar was taken, so I stood alone at a corner high table waiting for the rest of the Po8 fr33ks to show up. Then I hear my name. �John?� �John?� �John!�
The people who work in the office of my apartment complex were all out after work buying drinks for a co-worker who was leaving, and they recognized me as well as remembered my name � even though I only say hello once a month when I drop off my rent check. Weird.
I still don�t remember their names, but they invited me over to hang with them while I waited. In the process of small talking I found out my townhouse probably won�t be ready for 3 months instead of 1. DAMN. Oh well, as soon as Jen moves out I�ll have enough space� I could use the extra time to make some double payments on my Jeep�s loan. Less then a year and Wrangler is paid off...
I�ve never been the type of person to name my car. I don�t know why exactly, other than no name has ever come to me that would fit it. In my life I�ve owned a Chevy Malibu, a Trans Am (it was bitchin� I was young!!), an Eclipse, a BMW 318 IS, and now a Black and Tan Jeep Wrangler with a soft top and half doors. I like the jeep, it fits me.
Hung over. Oh that�s right, I digress. Well the poets were late to the party, so I talked with the people from my building for about 45 minutes and 3 beers. When the poets and poet friends arrived, we grabbed some tables in the back, ordered lots of appetizers, and pitchers of margaritas. I think I alone drank a pitcher of margarita. Hung over.
When we were eating, it began to snow:
a gentle dusting unseen in the chilled dark night / until settling for a car or sidewalk as it�s resting place / a city growing white
shuffling in city street lights / stomping wet off of black combat boots / laying on your carpet.
everyone forgetting how to drive.
snow�
I didn�t feel like driving home right away, so I walked down the street to my friend Ray�s house� he�s the Poet Laureate of Providence, and the mayor pays him one whole dollar a year for that position. It�s still cool to be the poet laureate of a city, just not underground cool. Ray and I talked for a while and drank coffee. Ray�s place is always great to stop in on, there�s always coffee in the pot.
After that I went home, spent some time on-line, and went to bed.
Tonight I am supposed to go to the movies with Ray and a few friends. I�m not into it, I really need to do some laundry so I can look respectable when I�m down in Manhattan this weekend. I have plenty of GAP BOY clothes that are clean, but the rest (my alter ego suits) are in need a laundering. Every piece of black clothing has disappeared this week. Bizarre.
I�ll be sleeping on Cristin�s futon, going somewhere Saturday night that is currently unknown, and then on Sunday going to CBGB�s for the slam. CBGB�s is where Bon Jovi first played and got their start out of. Monday I have off from work, but I�ll be getting up early in NYC and heading back to PVD on the 8 or 8:30 train.
Sound like fun? Hope so. I could use a break from this Providence routine.
hung over� I remember last night agreeing to go to Club Hell with Ed, Shana, and Ann. I don�t remember if I agreed to go to Fetish Night or Goth night. Fetish night makes me nervous, because despite the piercing, I AM SO NOT INTO PAIN.
It doesn�t hurt to watch... most of the time.
