Everything is wrong with me
Monday, October 11, 2004
three things I realized this weekend (and a lil' shout-out to the Mummers)
1) I am a wino. Well, not officially, since according to dictionary.com "wino" is defined as “an indigent wine-drinking alcoholic.”

Despite the fact that the people from MasterCard are right now plotting to kidnap my sister and hold her for ransom until I pay them at least some of the thousands of dollars I owe them (thousands of dollars spent on expensive alcohol, Mexican takeout, and small arms), I don’t think I’m exactly “indigent.”

And, despite the fact that last weekend I woke up with a raging hangover and drank a quart of milk that expired in July because I thought it would "fuck me up good", I don’t think I’m an “alcoholic” either.

But good lord, I am loving the wine right now. After work on Thursday, I went to one of the three hundred or so wines places in my terrible neighborhood in the Upper East Side, planning to buy a bottle of white wine. I know, I know, white wine is for women and homosexuals, but the red I inhaled last week gave me terrible heartburn, so I figured I'd switch it up. Also, as a card-carrying member of several racist organizations, including but not limited to: Fat Irish Catholics Against Japanese Jews, The Brotherhood of People With Green Eyes Who Really, Really Hate Panamanians With Tattoos, and The People's Front of Judea, I know that once you go white, you never go back. Or something like that.

When I walked in to the wine place, there was a guy near the door doing a tasting. He asked if I would like to try some wine, and I said, "No". I don't really like to do wine tastings, because I know less than nothing about wine. But while you're tasting it, and the guy's droning on and on about the grapes and texture, you feel compelled to act like you know what's he talking about, and I'm always afraid that I'm going to be exposed as a fraud.

Wine Guy: "The red your tasting is a lovely Chilean wine - can you taste the oak undertones?"
Me: [slurping wine, lying] "Totally."
Wine Guy: "Well, that's funny, because what you're drinking is not wine at all. It's old grape juice mixed with tequila and dish soap. So you are lying."
Me: [resigned] "Damn. Can I buy this anyway?"
Wine Guy: "Get the hell out of the store before I call the police."
Me: [resigned] "Damn."

But, after initially saying "no" to the testing, the voice in my head that tells me things like, "You know what would be awesome? If you stole that car and drove it into a river" and "It's totally ok to take pills based solely on their color - as long as you believe in them, they won't hurt you" piped up and said, "Hey, pussy - do you realize that that guy just offered you free booze and you turned it down? Also, can we have chicken parm for dinner tonight?" So I changed my reply and had some wine with the gentleman.

It was still awkward, and he was talking about something called "Rosemount" and how this wine was just in "Spectator" and gabbing on and on until I said, "I'll take two. Thank you." I think this is the only way to shut these people up.

I perused the rest of the wine in the store, and in the next five minutes probably 15 store employees came up to me and said, "Can I help you with something?" or "Looking for something in particular?" It got so annoying, I had to restrain myself from screaming, "DAMN IT! I don't know shit about wine and just want to get fucked up, so leave me alone! And show me your titties, bitch!"

Safely back in the comforting yet strangely formaldehydey-smelling confines of my apartment, I started having the wine. And soon, I was drunk. This is probably because I had the first bottle of white wine in about three sips, but I'm not entirely sure. But good lord - white wine is dangerously easy to drink. It's like drinking old Gatorade, but instead of refreshing you it makes you drunk and randy.

So for the rest of the weekend, I altered my pre-gaming routine. Instead of following my two vodka red bulls with either beer or some cranberry and vodka, I'd polish off a bottle of white wine.

And god did I get fucked up. Awesome times.

2) Cake is awesome. Not, I'm not talking about the pastry, I'm talking about the band (although I admit that the pastry is even more awesome than the band). My buddy Joe and my roommate Brian and I went to see them at the Hammerstein Ballroom on Friday night. We actually almost didn't make it; we were plowing through drinks in my apartment and though the show started at 8, we didn't leave until 9 (thankfully, they had an opening act so we only missed one song).

I don't understand why this band isn't bigger. I know they have a large fan base, but really, they should be huge. They have such a unique cool sound: the disco-esque basslines, the harmonies, the lead singer John McCrea's signature guitar sound, the trumpet - what gives with you people? Can't you appreciate good music when you hear it?

At any rate, their new album "Pressure Chief" is quite good, in particular "Baskets", "Wheels", "The Palm Of Your Hand", and "Guitar Man." Check it out, if you have the time.

3) Things are good right now. I think the pendulum of manic-depressive is swinging back to manic, because I'm feeling pretty good about shit. I had an awesome weekend, and even though I spent enough money to make a generous down-payment on a small home in Wichita, I got really fucked up and had a great time. And there's a lot to look forward to: the weather's getting cooler, the baseball playoffs, the Philadelphia Eagles, my roommate Brian's birthday (which gives me an excuse to pee the bed), two of my buddies are getting married which means open bars, etc.

And then, it'll be Thanksgiving, so I'll get to overeat (not that I didn't do that just now by getting a meatball sub at Subway with extra meatballs). Then Christmas, so I can watch all the Christmas movies and wonder if I'll be spending the holidays alone for the rest of my life, or just until I make enough money for a woman to start using me for it.

And then, the greatest day of my year: New Year's Day. Philadelphia has this parade on New Year's Day, called the Mummers Parade. It's basically like our version of Mardi Gras. I'm going to post about this eventually, but you're going to have to do some reading up. Check out the following sites:

- www.strutthemovie.com
The site of a documentary released about the Mummers parade and its place in Philadelphia and national history.

- www.mummers.com
A general site that answers many questions about the Mummers.

- www.froggycarr.homestead.com
The particular group that yours truly is a member of.

Again, I'll explain in greater detail later, but something to do if you're bored. And, if you're trying to get in my pants, you should learn everything about the Mummers, since they are a giant part of my life, even moreso than pills or betrayal, which is saying a lot.

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