Monday, February 23, 2004
Welcome to the Gas Chamber
The party was quite a hit. I want to thank all involved at Glory Hole Central for the planning and for inviting us. Sadly, though, there were no spectacular acts of depravity nor human trainwrecks.
We arrived early (i.e., pretty much first). This guy was there, along with his formerly estranged wife. (Score one for Love.) There were over 120 pieces of sushi, a godless amount of chicken wings in a variety of flavors, five coolers full of beer (again with the variety), a bar’s worth of liquor and mixers, tons o’ wine, and more Parrotheads than you could shake a knotty stick at. Seriously, 10 minutes after the party’s official starting time, the house was quickly filling up with bodies. We were shoveling food and beer into our pieholes so fast, I realized I needed to pace myself (as I was contemplating a fourth beer after an hour and a half).
I made a special mix CD for the event, featuring some Adam Green (his incomparable hits “Jessica” and “Bunnyranch”), nasty rap songs (“Work It” and “Back that Ass Up”), party hits (“Brass Monkey” and “Private Idaho”), 80s classics (“Your Love” and “Girls on Film”), and a track from Mr. Green's band, The Moldy Peaches ("Who's Got the Crack?"). Oh, and “Milkshake.” Maybe I’ll make some copies for a few of you. Or maybe I'll shiv myself in the eye.
Despite the lack of crises, every party has its dark underbelly. For instance, some delinquents took over the computer room and turned it into the "Gas Chamber" (for the nitrous). Can you imagine . . . going to a Jewish guy’s house and designating a “gas chamber?” How rude, right? So, yeah, these crazies were rolling around on the floor like kids at least a decade younger than themselves, huffing nitrous oxide out of balloons and/or straight out of the whipped-cream dispenser. It was sick and wrong, I tell ya. Sick and wrong.
I woke up Sunday morning relatively hangover-free. I even did some stuff around the house before Michelle woke up (two hours later). And like Wally Lamb, I know these things are true:
-- That South Park episode called “Raisins,” in which Stan gets dumped by Wendy and starts hanging out with all the none-more-black goth kids. Yeah, that was high school for me.
-- Ralph Nader doesn’t know when to quit. Maybe Bush promised to make him ambassador of something after the Coronation.
-- Girls don’t always want to have fun. No, sometimes, they want to get really nasty with one another and then make nice again on the front lawn.
-- The Paris Hilton video is really overrated. It just serves to show that billionaire heiresses can also be tweaked-out skanks who, although willing to go down on you, are too boring to fuck with the television turned off.
-- There aren’t many dignified ways for grown-ups to huff gas. Yeah, the balloons help for a while. But pretty soon, you’re frantically screwing chargers into the dispenser as fast as you can. Y’know, because, even when you have your eyes closed and you’re in a relaxed state, you can still hear people chirping for you to blow up a balloon for them. Geez, people. Pull it together.