“On the run from Johnny Law ain’t no trip to Cleveland.”-Bottle Rocket
Well this is my trip to Columbus, Mississippi so far. Good times. Went to a casino and Sonic now I’m heading to Alabama for a while. Awesome.
Sometimes I Post Stuff, Sometimes People Read It
Karaoke amuses me in different ways. I’ve done it and sounded really horrible yet its fun anyways and I think everyone should try singing on stage once. Just to know the feeling of belting out a tune in front of people. I’ve been cheered on hell I’ve even been booed. Regardless I have never booed and I usually clap because its tough to get up there-especially if you are not a good singer. And trust me I’m not.
However there are certain rules you should follow. Never try a song outside your limited vocal abilities. Know the crowd and what they will tolerate. But still don’t be afraid to go with a tune you love. There might be someone in the audience who loves it too. Oh and clapping in approval of a fellow karaoke singer is good form of course.
At some point I’ll karaoke again. I have butchered I mean sung Garth Brooks, Johnny Cash, CCR, Lynyrd Skynyrd, REO Speedway and others. Its fun to try and keep up with the machine. Some of you might even actually be good singers.
“It takes only one drink to get me drunk. The trouble is, I can’t remember if it’s the thirteenth or the fourteenth.”
Upon awakening around 2 pm to my TV showing me college basketball, I received a phone call 30 minutes later imploring me to hurry downtown. My friend, who had been unwisely consuming alcoholic beverages since 9 am in the morning, was barely able to stand outside some bar, noting that “There are cops everywhere and I need you to come, now.” Hastily getting dressed, I jumped into my car after noting a cop car deciding to park in the church lot across the street, resting to wait for speeders and drunk drivers. How entrapment of him, and very unforgiving, too. Yet upon calling my friend while approaching downtown I heard him tell me that he had cabbed it to a house near mine. I was understandably angry, and told him he could wait while I showered and cleaned up for the day.
Driving over to this house, I noticed the door was left opened and I walked into to find him sprawled out on a bed, completely wasted. I had to smack him three times to wake him up, and then I sat down to watch TV while awaiting his attempts to sober up. The lucky bastard had avoided going to jail, and thus his response was for us to go get Taco Bell and head back downtown. Against my better judgment, I compiled, knowing very well that my recent two week streak of being sober had come to an end.
There is nothing quite like St. Patrick’s Day on a Sunday, when even someone like myself, who works a crappy night job, has the day off. Meeting up with more drunk people, we wandered aimlessly downtown, finding ourselves at some random bar located in a dark basement dungeon. While I will be nice enough not to mention such a place, they proceeded to fail to give me back correct change. Luckily for them I was sober and I had to devote all of my energy and patience into not screaming curse words at them. Considering I always tip to reward good service, I declined to tip in this case-poor service should not be rewarded. And before anyone says otherwise, I went to two more bars in the next few hours that had good service and were just as busy.
One of them being a country bar that had once been some awful try at being a trendy nightclub. There’s nothing quite like being a place that’s not only standing room only, but also is completely blasting country music loud enough to kill your ear drums. Enjoying a Pabst Blue Ribbon and then dashing off once again, my friend and I ended up going back to the same bar three times. Or was it two-I lost track, and I was the designated driver. Incidentally we never drank at this bar, choosing instead to look for people we knew and encountering an old man sporting a green beard. Very cool, very St. Patrick’s Day. This bar also happened to be an Irish pub, so that was quite fitting, in addition to seeing another guy with a large green cowboy hat. Hurray.
Thankfully the night concluded with one more stop at some crappy dimly lit establishment far from the downtown area, of which my buddy and I enjoyed some brews and simply chilled. As a result we ended up giving a heavily intoxicated girl a ride home, and then after dropping him off I collapsed at home, wary and satisfied with the day’s overall events. I will admit I ate way too much Taco Bell, did not enjoy any truly good food, and spent too many hours stuck in places I’m not a huge fan of. However St. Patrick’s Day is an overall fun holiday, as long as you have a sober driver and the money. Beer isn’t as cheap as it used to be, sadly.
“The luck is gone, the brain is shot, but the liquor we still got. “ –Doug Coughlin from Cocktail
Tonight I ventured out to my local bar, with friends in tow. It’s always a good thing to bring friends with you while drinking at a local boozing establishment, because at least one of you will then be able to drive home, and hey that means you are not drinking alone like some lonely slob in that cool Nighthawks painting that I’ve always admired. Third Base Bar and Grill is a fine place to slowly descend into that magical world of inebriation, with welcoming bar stools and a fine bar that is solid wood, or something akin to what I think solid wood even is. The people there sadly know who we all are at this point, as we’ll all been going there since we were old enough to finally consume that magical elixir that so many pontificate about. And even though I’ve cut back to the point where I only engage in such behavior on the weekends, I’m not sure if I can keep on doing this forever.
Which brings me to a depressing fact: eventually you have to quit alcohol, or dial it back about twenty million paces. Some would argue that you are better off without the barley, and they have a point, except that such people are either moralistic religious types, or they were forced to give up the drink one way or another. So I take their advice with a small grin of salt, especially since over the last couple of years booze has inspired me to write. Look at this awful column right now, completely powered by the lingering after effects of downing several fine brews of Pale Aces Ale. Boom, inspiration right there, falling into the boring adage of writing based on real life experiences and limiting what you pen/type/whatever to what you know, which I hate. Not to mention endings, which I’m still working on. We’ll get there one day, although who we is I have no idea. Maybe I’m just losing it. I think I’ll have another drink.