Gotta Start Somewhere

About this at least, I've decided to cease being all talk. Yes, it is time I start blogging. Because my twenties are cresting the hill, and though I have no plans to clean up my act and do all the things I'm supposed to be doing, and stop doing the things I should be too old for, at least if I document it, I'll have something to show for how I spend my time.

See I have this theory that if I start writing more often I'll start thinking more often. And if I start writing more often, I'll feel pressure to do or learn things worth reading about. Let's see how this will go. After all, the title of this bastard refers to the fact that this could just turn out to be a laundry list of songs I put on jukeboxes in bars where I drink too much cheap whiskey while having that special breed of fast superlative-laden expressive conversation that seems so particular to drunken New York City friendships.

Names will be changed to protect the wicked, of course.

Woke up this morning with the taste of cheap beer and cigarettes on my breath. My social smoking is reaching dangerous heights. It's gotten to the point where if I go back to Russia, I'll probably bring some of those cheap smokes back with me, if only to reimburse the smokers that I have stolen so many drags from. Jessie tells me that she thinks I should start smoking, since I seem like the kind of person that would learn how to do tricks like blow smoke rings. Oh god, I'd love to think I was that sort of person.

We're in an outdoor section of a bar on Berry. It's Lucy's birthday. Our trip to a Mars themed restaurant had failed, but we consoled ourselves on the M train back to Brooklyn with some pocketbook gin, and we're ready for tacos and spirits.

Birthday wishes and travel plans abound. In a true beat type fashion, Lucy has stumbled across the idea that people will pay you to drive their car from one city to another, and that one could travel on the cheap in this fashion. It is an exciting possibility and I hope it comes to pass.

But all is not birthday celebrations. My roommate's girlfriend is about to pull up stakes for sunny California, and clearly the only reasonable reaction to this is karaoke and alcohol. Things I learned, a karaoke system with a backing track that doesn't have a loud enough monitor doesn't do a damn thing to keep me from being self-conscious about the fact that my attorney and I's version of You Keep Me Hangin' On is pretty damn pitiful compared to the Supremes' Good thing the rest of the bar was singing along too. Did a hell of a duet of My Boyfriends Back with Cassie.

Somehow stumbled back towards Greenpoint and the last thing I remember before waking up with a taste in my mouth like the counter in a bar and a head that had shrunk a few sizes, is Ivan pointing across the highway at me and yelling "Beach! Sunday! Be there!"

I don't really want to think about how often I come into work hungover now, but a couple of things brightened up my day.

1) DELONTE WEST IS A FUCKING CELTIC ONCE MORE!
In tribute I'm posting a link to the greatest Valentines Day interview of all time.
Seriously, I have not stopped being excited about this since I heard it. Delonte West. Is. Back. Lock up your mothers, Beantown.

2) I might not be destroying myself! Studies have shown that people that drink often live longer than people who never drink. Well, with a few caveats.

3)Discovering there is a wealth of clips on Youtube of Warren Zevon filling in for Paul Schaefer. Just an example

4) The two songs above. I don't know what it is about the Ramones that makes me need them during hangovers. It makes no sense, they're loud, they're fast, but they're just so so comforting. They are all that is good and true and dammit, sometimes you just need nice boys from Queens wishing they were a girl group to make your life make sense.

That is all. I sure hope I keep this up.