The Outbreak: Don't even try to deny it

Sunday, February 27, 2005

Don't even try to deny it

Last night my friend Ken threw himself a birthday party. And when I say he threw himself a birthday party, what I mean is that he did not fuck around. There was an open bar, a knife-throwing act, a ska band, an artsy marching band, burlesque dancers, and a happy-birthday-to-Ken strip show involving two of his friends that ended in an act that reminded me of nothing so much as George Costanza's declaration to a Senegalese home-care aide of his acquaintance, "I want to dip my bald head in oil and rub it all over your body," only in this case "oil" was replaced by chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and maybe some other stuff I couldn't see from that distance. When Amy and I left the party, there was a man with a face tattoo on stage doing some sort of revival-tent speech (that, or the opening for the MC5's Kick Out the Jams). As I said, Kenneth did not fuck around. What's funny about all this is that this was not for his 20th or 21st or 25th or 30th birthday (hell, given his and my predelictions, I'd have understood if it was his 23rd), but his 27th. I now sort of feel I can't ever have a birthday party again, because this would be pretty much impossible to top.

One thing I feel I discovered last night is that I truly can put away Guinness. I don't think this makes me special or anything, but I know that for a lot of people (my grandfather, for instance), it's just too heavy. It actually feels lighter than Pabst Blue Ribbon to me. I feel I am fortunate in this regard.

Another thing I discovered (or re-discovered) last night is that despite the fact that I work in the comics industry, I actually have one of the least ridiculous jobs of my high-school circle of friends. We count among our number a glass blower, a knife-thrower's assistant, and an anti-capitalist zine archivist. Granted, Ken's gig at a Fortune 500 company completely ruins the curve, but still.

Meanwhile the highlight of Amy's night was when a gay man complimented her ass. I do this all the time--seriously, all the time--but I guess she reasoned that this fellow knows from asses. Fine, fine, anything that gets her to actually accept a compliment. Right now she is asleep with her head in my lap, so perhaps I'll try subliminal messages to that effect.

We also saw the Gates last night, finally. Eh. It's impressive, in the sense that most massive things are impressive, but they just look like dirty shower curtains to me, or something from the opening ceremony of the Olympics.

Amy and I fought quite a bit yesterday. Wish I knew why, but I was just in a rotten mood and I let her know it. Yuck. On the other hand the nice thing about being married is that it lessens the drama--what're we gonna do, get divorced? Although, as Amy put it, there may be less drama but there's also more irritation, as we're stuck with each other. 99 times out of 100, though, that's just fine with me.


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