Note: Photos in this essay depict re-enactments of actual events, not the events themselves.
Thursday, July 12
McCaskill picked me up at my folks’ house at 9PM. We weren’t planning to leave Jackson until about 1 or 2AM, but we’d decided to hang out a while and say goodbyes because, naturally, we may never come back.
Instead of going to the bar, for obvious reasons, we opted for dinner. Regardless, as with alcohol, we are both bottomless pits for food. The meal was uneventful, save for the fact that our waitress had apparently served McCaskill once before, and had taken offense to a conversation about foreskins. Despite this, the food was palatable and (hopefully) spit-free.
Continue reading ‘Pitchfork Music Festival 2007 (II)’
I haven’t really tied one on for a few weeks, so apparently I was due last night. I went out (ostensibly) to eat some pizza with my friends, but they neglected to tell me that not only was it dollar slices, but it was dollar drafts as well. So I started pounding beers. Let me rephrase that: after my first beer was so refreshing and went down so easy, I started killing beers like they were trying to jump my land claim in a Clint Eastwood western. It really didn’t seem like I was drinking them, I just kept looking at my hand and there was always an empty glass in it.
Volume control and profanity became a problem, or an amusement, depending on who you ask. I flipped off all my friends repeatedly. I flipped of inanimate objects, including the new Dave Eggers book, which was gifted to me for no good reason by Katie, who also got flipped off. Everyone became motherfucker, or bitches (plural), and I was indiscriminate; males could be either, and females were wooed the same.
Continue reading ‘Diary of a GLORIOUS MOTHERFUCKER, pt. 2′
Last night, I went to the open mic night at the Downtown Tavern, an itty-bitty bar with a rad patio, and since it was warm (first time in what seems like months), they held the event outside.
I didn’t plan on becoming totally drunk; I was just going to have a few beers with McCaskill and see who else came around, but I got bored sitting at home by myself (total loserdom probably creates more alcoholics than anything else), so I went to Barley’s (another, larger bar with a $1 pint happy hour), drank four beers and ate a slice of pizza in an attempt to balance out the alcohol.
Continue reading ‘Diary of a GLORIOUS MOTHERFUCKER, pt. 1′
