An Even Bigger Butterfly, Part 5.
There is a thin gray line, like some kind of mental grout, between our functional mind and our id...mine had been chipped away by a really boring adolescence. As such, I attacked parties the same way the Allies rolled on France. There was no tomorrow, no leaving early without a new friend, no work to do...there was only that night, and those people.
By 6pm, the bottles were lined up (by class of liquor) along the kitchen counter, the snacks were on the kitchen table, the living room looked like higher primates lived there, and my buddy Jacques was chain-smoking Camels on the front porch.
Jacques is from a very, very affluent community to the south of mine, the kind that people who aren't from Connecticut are talking about when they use "Connecticut" in a sentence. He provides a strangely strangled mirror image of me, even now. He's smart but he did something with it, he's a good guy who never really quit being a Boy Scout, and he's a generally class-ignorant cat who comes from money.
I stepped out for a Newport (this was during my Keith Richards Smoking Phase, when I spent as many waking moments as possible with a cigarette in my hand) and answered Jacques' unspoken question.
"Yes, I'm sure there'll be girls. Wendy's going to crash the party, and you know she had to bum a ride from somebody."
Jacques nodded, smiled, and took a long puff.
"That girl's crazy."
I took a long drag and gave him my I Know Stuff About Stuff Look (patent pending.)
"Then maybe her friends will be really interesting."
Being a fairly unintuitive soul, I had no idea exactly how right I was.
There is a thin gray line, like some kind of mental grout, between our functional mind and our id...mine had been chipped away by a really boring adolescence. As such, I attacked parties the same way the Allies rolled on France. There was no tomorrow, no leaving early without a new friend, no work to do...there was only that night, and those people.
By 6pm, the bottles were lined up (by class of liquor) along the kitchen counter, the snacks were on the kitchen table, the living room looked like higher primates lived there, and my buddy Jacques was chain-smoking Camels on the front porch.
Jacques is from a very, very affluent community to the south of mine, the kind that people who aren't from Connecticut are talking about when they use "Connecticut" in a sentence. He provides a strangely strangled mirror image of me, even now. He's smart but he did something with it, he's a good guy who never really quit being a Boy Scout, and he's a generally class-ignorant cat who comes from money.
I stepped out for a Newport (this was during my Keith Richards Smoking Phase, when I spent as many waking moments as possible with a cigarette in my hand) and answered Jacques' unspoken question.
"Yes, I'm sure there'll be girls. Wendy's going to crash the party, and you know she had to bum a ride from somebody."
Jacques nodded, smiled, and took a long puff.
"That girl's crazy."
I took a long drag and gave him my I Know Stuff About Stuff Look (patent pending.)
"Then maybe her friends will be really interesting."
Being a fairly unintuitive soul, I had no idea exactly how right I was.
posted by Thom Guthrie, Bassist and Adventurer at 8:16 PM
3 Comments:
Lil-
Now you know why I do this. I'm not nostalgic; too many lonely nights, too many sleepless and pointless ventures into bad places, too many cold mornings with the realization that I was just doing someone else's dirty work.
I'm haunted, pure and simple, and this is my attempt at exorcism.
Wendy's nothing compared to the girl she brought with her to that party...I'm still cleaning up after that mess.
Wait. What's the date of this again?
12/31/91-1/1/92.
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