I contracted some kind of virus over the weekend. My first thought: contaminated spinach! But I don't think I had any; in fact, I sort of stopped buying the bagged spinach because I always forget to use it before it goes bad. This is the gamble of buying produce. And what an exciting life it is.
Despite the onset of illness, I still went over to Janice's new apartment for dinner, which was lovely. Against better judgment we then proceeded to Boat for Tom's birthday. Tom announced his comic work will be getting publishing in an anthology by Fantagraphics. Not bad, they were always my favorite alt-comics publisher (close second: Drawn & Quarterly). By this time I was either guzzling whiskey or honking into tissues which made me such a charming guest. I woke up Sunday feelin' fine … for a little while.
What's up with this delayed-reaction thing with hangovers? I felt okay when I got up at noon, but by 2PM I was ready to hit myself in the head with a steam iron just to knock myself out. Maybe it was the last of the alcohol leaving my system that left me vulnerable to malaise. I took a bunch of allergy medicine, which is notable mostly for its ability to put me into a coma-like stupor. I slept the rest of the day away, missing the Atlantic Antic, which I had been pitching to everybody I talked to last night. I wanted to see The Fleshtones, both because they are always fun, and also because I'm afraid they'll die before I get to see them again.
Speaking of rock, Friday night at Michelene's was absolutely ridiculous. Something about that dank cellar resembles Your Parents' Basement When You Were in High School, and thus seems to bring out the juvenile goofball in its attendees. Kevin Shea (People) decided his subject for between-song banter would be "Penis," and he pretty much exhausted this topic by the end of their set. Kevin has taken to wearing berets and several pairs of sunglasses while playing, which tend to get flung into the air by his convulsive drumming. The Solution: tape the headgear down. This led to a veritable line of people going up and taping various stuff to Kevin while he continued to play. What a pro. for some reason Kevin broke into "Sunday Bloody Sunday" which prompted normally mild-mannered ToddP to grab the mic and belt out the tune with the help of Christopher from Parts and Labor and some other audience members.
When Stay Fucked took the stage (uh, corner), instead of standing still and watching the band, the crowd got into it like they were the Circle Jerks circa 1983. At one point a bunch of guys came up and lifted Hank's drum kit off the ground while he continued to play, which was nice for a spontaneous prank on the band. Even ToddP, normally restrained, was animated all evening. In between bands he put the Jackson 5 on the PA and tried to encourage patrons to join the "killer dance party in the basement!" SF refused a second encore at which time, it was announced that a local spot was having a special evening including all-you-can-drink booze and all-nude strippers from Jersey, all for $15 a head. I passed on this anthropological curiosity but I'd still like to hear what that was like.
At least I managed to have my fun before this cold totally kicked me in the butt. I even considered staying home today, but in the end it's far less trouble to go into the office sick than it would be if I had skipped it today. Of course, the real reason one stays home when they are sick it to prevent one's coworkers from getting sick. But I totally want to get these people sick.
