This past weekend, I made a conscious effort to take a temporary break from my intense relationship with my couch.
Although sad, he understood. He's good like that.
On Friday night I met up with my dear Niagaran Doppelganger, Mike D.
We went to see Shutter Island. Beforehand, since I assumed it was a really scary movie, I had to explain how I'm a chickenshit and watch scary movies with my hands over my eyes. It wasn't so scary, but I did watch through squinted eyes here and there. Any scary or half scary crap involving kids freaks me out.
Hey! Scorcese! Leave the kids alone...
Over beers after, I may or may not have continually boasted about my musical knowledge. He may or may not have made fun of me. (Whatever Mike, I proved it!)
The next night, a gathering of fun folks populated the Annex Wreck Room to see Bob spin.
I'd never been there before. Never really had a reason, I suppose. But the beer was cheaper than most places, Bob was playing tunes that made me happy, and Natural Born Killers was on the big screen.
These campers may not look happy, but they were. They were just trying to avoid eye contact with the show-off frat boys who were hovering nearby.
Hovering. Leering. Judging, with their collared shirts.
After a few bottles of liquified love (of the hops and barley variety), I somehow managed to make friends with some (young) fellow metalheads, take a spin on the ol' stripper pole (not so good, Al.), and lose a game of Fooseball to some random dudes who cheated.
Oh, the dancing. And the arm-waving. Two days later, my arms still somehow hurt.
This is what 5 o'clock in the morning looks like, when you're tired and sweaty and lookin' for Big Macs in all the wrong places.
So... you'll all be there on March 6th when Bob spins again? Lovely. I think I need a re-match w/ those frat boys.