Monday, October 16, 2006

Champagne stories

I lead a charmed fuckin' life here.

My first day as an intern last summer I walked in...after getting horribly lost taking a freight elevator, I was completely green. Prior to that I got lost again looking for our damned offices, expecting to see our logo in lights above the door where Jagger-hot groupies oiled up and used each other like slip and slides...nope. Just another normal big-ass building.

Anyway, I made it in to our offices and within 15 minutes of being there I was handed a glass of shitty champagne. After that I was handed a glass of Dom. Nevermind WHY I got the spensive champagne, the point is that I did.

Because of my stressing and lack of food in stomach, I got drunk. I was drunk on Dom my first day working in the major music business.

I only think of champagne because since we will find any excuse to drink it on the job around here, we did yesterday. One of our guys got in to the NYU masters program, which is one hell of an achievement. So we drank. I caught a buzz a half hour before I was supposed to leave and go to dinner and drinks and a James Blunt concert with my future department.

--I wrote that last Wednesday and forgot to post it, or decided not to. I'm not sure but its up now, so yeah.

The day following that I went out drinking with a bunch of video promo people from all the major music networks...You know, the A-Team. I don't know what it is, but those people know how to party. I had a great time, and at some point I think I offered a girl large sums of money to titty-fuck her. I'm a vile person I know, but a bunch of funny gay guys put me up to it. A good time was had by all.

Lets wrap this up with another wacky phone message.

This guy calls with a voice like a grinding clutch telling me about some show he saw at the Count Basie theatre in Jersey. It must have been a lounge act because this guy was LIVID (as livid as a 900 year old man can be) about how disrespectful this show was to Dean, Sam and Frank. Somehow this was my fault... that this guy saw some cheap imitation of the Rat Pack on a nursing home outing. He said he was a friend of the group, and for all I knew he was part of their crew. Or he was just crazy as hell, and given my answering machine's sordid past, I'm going with door number 2.

And now, a picture of my cousin after drinking the worst bloody mary ever.
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