Strange Nights with the Girls

If you've followed this foolishness for any length of time you'll recall my belief in the healing power of booze. I wouldn't consider myself a big drinker, but going on a drunk every couple months (when done correctly and monitored by professionals) can be therapeutic - blasting away bad feelings and negativity, and sometimes resulting in the rare negative hangover the next morning - where you feel no ill effects from the alcohol, but instead experience a feeling of peace and cosmic wellness.

Hopefully this will result in breaking down communication barriers, and really, really connecting and feeling something, man. Think of that scene in The Breakfast Club when the kids smoke a doobie and can finally relate to each other. Or if you want to get all highbrow, there's that William Blake quote Hunter Thompson used about a thousand times, "He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." 

That's a little dramatic, but there is something to be said for getting drunker than a poet on payday with some friends and seeing where the night takes you.

A friend of mine was in town last week. Let's call her Laura. My ex-wife and I have known Laura since college. She was supposed to stay with me Saturday night after seeing a band downtown. 

I have a pretty good relationship with my last two exes. It's fairly remarkable and cosmopolitan. I'll get drinks or dinner occasionally with my last long term girlfriend, and visit with my ex-wife about every other weekend at the Riverside Arts Market, catching up on gossip, eating Filipino food and just hanging around. I'd like to think they both still hang with me because I am so damn loveable and charming. 

Yeah, that's probably it.

It could be weird at first when I'd run into them, but things have settled into a nice new routine, and I'm legitimately glad to see them and keep in touch, and it seems they like seeing me. Oh. I should mention. My ex-wife is gay, and recently got remarried in New York. To a woman. I get along great with her also. I told you it was all very cosmopolitan.

So that's the backstory. Back to the drinking. After watching the band, my ex-wife, her wife, Laura and I ended up at Birdies (home of the $2.50 mixed drink, if you don't mind Aristocrat gin and a possible paralyzing hangover the next morning), because, well, you pretty much always end up at Birdies when going out in Jacksonville.

I don't think anyone was too drunk, I wasn't eating money or ripping off my shirt yet, but I was comfortable enough to dance in public. And hell, if people didn't want to see me dance then they shouldn't be playing Prince and Cheap Trick. It was fun. I was dancing with a bunch of ladies, doing my patented shaky leg dance (I'll show you sometime ladies, but be warned - you WILL be turned on), and having a blast.

Me with ladies. Note the extended pinky. Classy!

When closing time rudely interrupted the hijinx, Laura was looking for more fun.

"I've got some gin and whiskey at my place," I said. "I think probably some ancient rum and some beer there too."

So it was decided. Actually, here I'm a little unclear. I don't remember if Laura invited my ex-wife and her wife over to my house, but I don't think I would have. No offense to them, but I thought it might be weird, since she hasn't been in the house since she moved her stuff out about three years ago. I mean, like I said, we have a great relationship now, but why mess with stuff, you know?

I didn't have anything to worry about. We put a sizeable dent in my hurricane supplies, everyone was getting along great and laughing and I was DJing. Yes, "Troglodyte" got played. Probably a couple times. I gave everyone the grand tour which was pretty funny since most of what little furniture I have is still in the same place it was three years ago. Hey, I've been busy, alright?

I never thought I'd have my ex-wife and her wife drinking at my house, but everybody was having fun and there was no evident weirdness. After a couple songs, the ex requested a certain song. I was a bit hesitant.

"Dude, you gotta play "Hello, Lucille, Are You a Lesbian."

 "Wait, really? Are you sure? I mean, it's not weird or anything now?"

"No, no, just play it."

And I did. As always, novelty funk music and alcohol brought people together. And that's exactly what I was talking about earlier. It was super fun having the ex and her wife (and Laura, too) in my house that night, but if it weren't for the sweet, sweet booze, there's no way I ever would have been suggestible enough to let it happen. Kids, if you're under 21 and want to have this sort of excitement and open communication EVERY DAY OF YOUR LIVES, find a kindly hobo or local priest to buy you some alcohol. Or perhaps steal some from your parents if they have a liquor cabinet. Maybe learn to distill your own wine from simple household ingredients - ask an ex-con for instructions on the best methods.

Trust me, you will thank me later when you're having adventures, exciting, witty conversations and therapeutic breakthroughs.

Cunning Stunts

For nerdy kids, there were few greater feelings than successfully pulling a prank over on someone. Not only did it get you laughs, strengthening your sense of theatricality, but it reinforced a vague sense that you were smarter than the adults.

Of course, looking back, the adults were probably just playing along to not crush your self-esteem. I mean, kids aren't really known for their self-control or patience, so when you suddenly started spouting,
"Hey mom, why don't you sit down? Like, right here? On this cushion? Aren't you tired, huh? Why don't you sit down," they probably knew what was up.

At least my parents played along with my practical jokes, my friends were once chased around the table by their murderous dad after he found a fake fly ice cube in his drink.

The company S.S. Adams (sadly, no relation) made it easy for kids with cheap practical jokes in just about every supermarket. This one-stop shopping area could get you joy buzzers, fake soap, snapping gum, whatever your heart desired.

While the packaging was amazing, the actual mechanics of the toys usually left something to be desired. That joy buzzer looked awesome, with that 1950s businessman jumping out of his shoes with lighting bolts all around him. When you actually used it on someone, it made a pathetic little 'bzzzz' sound as your victim just sort of stared at you. Of course, the joke was pretty much over when a ten year old you offered to shake hands with someone. What kid shakes people's hands? It also didn't help that it looked like you were a little kid wearing a wedding band.

S.S. Adams inspired a brand loyalty that would rival that of the guy at work that's always yapping about the newest Apple whatever, mostly because they were cheap and readily available. They also seemed a bit more realistic than the stuff advertised in comic books.



Although I really, really wanted my own personal 7 foot Frankenstein, my dad explained that it was just a cardboard picture and he couldn't really be used to settle neighborhood scores. Besides, all that stuff had to be mailed away for, which seemed a long, confusing and boring process, possibly involving checks.

Also, who had the patience to wait 4-6 weeks to wait for your X-Ray Specs or Sea Monkeys or...holy crap! The guy who invented X-Ray Specs and Sea Monkeys was a member of the Klan and the Aryan Nations? Shit, I'm glad I didn't unknowingly finance Hitler by buying those X-Ray Specs I really wanted.
Jesus, I wonder where the money for that 7 foot Frankenstein would have gone? NAMBLA?

Anyway, S.S. Adams is still going strong, and not affiliated with any creepy causes that I could find. Next time you're at the store you should pick up a can of those jumping snake mixed nuts. Looking at the packaging, they haven't changed since like 1962, but that's not the point. Everyone knows that you have to play along with that sort of stuff.

My Friends are Thirteen Years Old

My good friend Patrick was in town last weekend. I had to work. Whenever we meet up with each other, we exchange gifts as a sign of respect, much like the wise Native Americans of ancient times. Or maybe it was the Dutch.

Anyway, since most of the crap we like is juvenile, stupid or of interest to only a handful of nerds in the world, it just makes sense to give it away, rather than trying to sell it on ebay and trying to reclaim about a tenth of what we paid for our treasures.

By the way, I just bought a ton of '70s Italian Star Wars ripoff DVDs. Will these eventually end up as Christmas gifts? Only if my friends are very lucky.

I hid my meager bag of stuff for Pat, hoping my white trash neighbors wouldn't steal it or use it as a training tool for their 30 pit bulls. When I got home from work I had a huge box of treats waiting for my by the front door. A ton of really nice Ben Sherman shirts, some old band T-shirts (scored a sweet Mod target shirt, Black Flag bars, Birthday Party, Smiths, Devo, all sorts of stuff it seemed like I should have had at one point), and a smattering of DVDs and CDs. Yeah, that box was pretty packed with awesome. What's that? The box itself? Uh, well, here's a photo of the box that was on my doorstep for the mailman and God and everyone to see:



The other sides give operating instructions ("in the butt") and celebrity testimonials. I'm sure my neighbors had a good laugh over this when they were up on my porch looking for stuff to steal.