Goddamn time management, you are a cruel master. Here I am just wanting to sit around and do hungover things and you’re resting a foot on my back, holding me down over the keyboard. I’m not hungover, I don’t even feel messy from last night, but somehow that hasn’t precluded this desire to laze about and devour anything edible. So far today I’ve had a mocha, ginger crunch, a big jonagold apple, pickled carrots, scrambled eggs with cheese curds and marmite toast. I may also have eaten some peanut butter from the jar with a fork. If this isn’t living Sunday up Big Willie Style then I don’t know what is.
I’ve recently resumed one of my favourite hobbies: Drinking. It’s the kind of thing I’d be horrified to have as a character quirk, but it certainly does add quirk to my character. I feel like things have changed since my last vacation from alcohol. I still like to drink a bit, but my comfort levels with heavier intoxication have dipped back. I switch to the water far more often than I did. I’m not 20 any more and while there’s a ton of appeal to cracking a few, getting to that munted state lacks the same excitement. The thing that I have been enjoying picking up the glass again is finding that special brand of excitement that comes with a few drinks. Alcohol is still an upper for me (shit, this feels like the first act of a biopic before the fall) and with the a balanced level I just get fascinated by things. I want to learn more about everything everyone is doing. Why no, I don’t know anything about discordant fashion and its influence over time. You know about how angles and lighting evoke intentional moods in vintage photography? No, I have no idea about anything to do with glass blowing. Insects are a viable food source? TEACH ME. Why would I not want to know more about things I’ve never experienced. Sober, I don’t always feel capable of mustering interest. If I’ve drunk just enough, everything is fascinating.
I guess the other way to look at it is that drinking puts me into a more childish state. There’s a kind of wonderment to the world because it feels like I’m looking at it with fresh eyes (or beer goggles, take your pick). If something unusual happens while drinking it seems heightened. So when the DJ last night paused Sisqo‘s Thong Song for an a capella breakdown, of course it was The Best Thing. He didn’t quite get to the key change, but it’s probably for the best. You know how back in the days of The Beatles, teenage fans would get so excited they’d faint? That’s not the kind of thing we want happening in a classy Toronto bar. I know, from this sober perspective, that my body would’ve evoked the infinitely feeble defence mechanism of a fainting goat had an a capella thong song key change gone down. So for the sake of my non-throbbing head this morn, I’m thankful.
The other astounding development was coming to terms with the fact that the bar had a working copy of the Michael Jackson’s Moonwalker arcade box. A tangible sensation washed over me was I beheld this object before me. A 3 player scrolling beat-em-up in which each different Michael Jackson has some type of elemental blast he can hurl at enemies. I skipped ahead on a Youtube playthrough and he not only turns into a giant robot, but also transforms into a fucking plane and flies away. How I left that bar without soiling myself in glee, I don’t know. I placed my quarter in and waited. Nothing happened. I looked down and realised that coin slot 1 was jammed and the door was left swinging open, but blocked from customers. Much like Led Zeppelin, there was No Quarter. Forlorn, I bowed my head and let the sadness wash over me. I left the bar still in high spirits, but knowing full well that I’d left a part of my soul there.
Then I realised that The Internet exists, the game is downloaded and my girlfriend and I have newfound evening plans. Shamon!