Sometime in October of 2001, I got badly drunk in Central Pennsylvania. Because I was inventing the process, having not been taught how to get drunk nor inherited the knowledge through my DNA, I made a mess the first few times out the gate. In 2001, I made a horrid display of myself through a series of increasingly bad choices in drinks.
Before it all happened, I went with a pair of friends and one of their girlfriend's to a brew-pub. The Bullfrog. I have since reversed the position that I held that evening, passing on the beer to eventually drink harder liquor. Today, I will step over a shot for a pint. In two years, I think I will stop drinking altogether and see what a bit of complete temperance will do for me. Lord knows it would have saved myself from the wicked hangover that plagued me the following morning back then.
While I recovered on my friends' couch, watching either a football game or them play a series of video games, I recalled a peculiar moment at dinner time. As I said, I passed on beer. I was sober when this happened, though I can never really account for my mental state.
Whoever was manning the club's PA system was hip or wild or just plain freaky because though I didn't hear the looming introduction ("The way I see it, Barry....") I instantly recognized the opening ditty of 'Lumpy Gravy.'
In the half-hour that followed, there were moments that the buzz of the restaurant, the overall din of ever table's conversation, rose and lowered together, as if someone was twiddling the volume knob. Sharp dashes up/down, followed by swooping crests. It's hard to describe and I was the only one who experienced it.
The effect ended shortly before that instrumental 'Take Your Clothes Off When You Dance' played around. I would finish my meal, get terribly drunk, eat at midnight and vomit.
Before it all happened, I went with a pair of friends and one of their girlfriend's to a brew-pub. The Bullfrog. I have since reversed the position that I held that evening, passing on the beer to eventually drink harder liquor. Today, I will step over a shot for a pint. In two years, I think I will stop drinking altogether and see what a bit of complete temperance will do for me. Lord knows it would have saved myself from the wicked hangover that plagued me the following morning back then.
While I recovered on my friends' couch, watching either a football game or them play a series of video games, I recalled a peculiar moment at dinner time. As I said, I passed on beer. I was sober when this happened, though I can never really account for my mental state.
Whoever was manning the club's PA system was hip or wild or just plain freaky because though I didn't hear the looming introduction ("The way I see it, Barry....") I instantly recognized the opening ditty of 'Lumpy Gravy.'
In the half-hour that followed, there were moments that the buzz of the restaurant, the overall din of ever table's conversation, rose and lowered together, as if someone was twiddling the volume knob. Sharp dashes up/down, followed by swooping crests. It's hard to describe and I was the only one who experienced it.
The effect ended shortly before that instrumental 'Take Your Clothes Off When You Dance' played around. I would finish my meal, get terribly drunk, eat at midnight and vomit.
(Jack Daniels, Bacardi, Wild Turkey, Tequila.)
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