It's been a big week thus far. I haven't slept much, I cant see straight, and I'm wearing the same clothes I wore last night. This post is going to be a god damn nightmare...
Let's see...
Wednesday.
5 minutes before I was about to walk out, two 110 dollar Knicks tickets fell into my lap. Right on the baseline, under the basket. So I grabbed my friend MassHole, who is always down to do something random. She is awesome, a hard drinking Bostonian who likes really bad music. She reads this blog. We have had some fantastic drunk sex. Despite our best efforts, it is NEVER awkward between us. Especially now that she has a boyfriend, it's funny watching her melt into a crushing schoolgirl whenever she talks about him.
So yeah, MassHole and I got buzzed and yelled and watched the Knicks kick the shit out of Philly for free. I love this shit.
Yesterday.
David Byrne was here. I repeat, David Byrne. Singer/mastermind, Talking Heads. Someone told me he was here and I turned into a giddy 14 year old waiting for Rex Manning to sign my tit. You have no idea how much I love the Talking Heads. I went as this fucker for Halloween two years ago, and somewhere there is a recording of my drunk ass covering "Burning Down the House" over drum machine beats from the 70's.
what the fuck?
I couldn't get any work done knowing he was there. I would constantly expect to turn around and see him standing there, white hair and all, with that slightly cracked but kind expression on his face. I rehearsed what I was going to say, to avoid activating the magnets in my foot and mouth... let us not forget the Tony Wilson incident.
I never got my chance. I got up to turn down loud ass BET, looked to my left, and there he was, 50 feet away from me, waiting for the elevator. He was looking right at me, wearing bright red pants, swinging a Vespa helmet. The second I looked at him, he moved swiftly into the elevator. It was like he knew what I was up to, and hurried to escape the blather of nonsense I was about to unleash on him. Smart man.
After that, the video promo girl I went on a date with not too long ago invited me to The Woodies. The Woodies is the MTVU awards show. This means its populated by low-level industry scrubs, college radio DJs, and of course, drunk ass college kids. It was the shit, Beck performed with puppets, Lady Sovereign was hammered, 30 Seconds to Mars were prissy, Slug from Atmosphere (I was on that shit back in 98. The hometown heroes.) is still a smirking, talented fuck, Katt Williams (Diplomats?!?) is funny as hell, Imogen Heap did "hide and seek", and TV on The Radio was the fucking shit. They played "Wolf Like Me" and I couldn't wipe the stupid red bull and vodka grin off my face.
We were out by 11:00, in the bar by 11:10, and home by 2. But not my home. Like I said, I'm wearing the same thing I wore yesterday.
What a week, I need to go home, nap, shower, and chill out.
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