Earlier today I heard two of our department’s interns talking about “man, I was up til 2 last night finishing that [school] project. It was so hard getting up for work today, man, sooo hard.”
And, “Dude, we were out partying ‘til like, one in the morning, it was INSANE, and man, am I tired.”
And I am thinking,“The fuck? What are you, like, 22? What happened to the boundless energy of youth and all of its inspired possibilities? What happened to binge drinking Milwaukee’s best ‘til the sun came up after a 4-day (insert choice drug of the kids these days)* binge and still making it to class on time, then going out and doing it again every day for a week? What happened to the ability to outlast the tired because fuck it, you’ll sleep when you’re 33?”
Aren’t you a little young for that “I’m too old for that shit” shit?
Sorry for the cranky, it probably has something to do with the fact that for some reason I thought it would be a great idea to close the karaoke bar down in the wee hours of the morning yesterday despite the fact I had to be to work about 4 minutes later, because hey, my friend The Brit was in town, and you only get to see him like, once every couple of years and hey The Brit! Good to see ya man! What’s that? Another beer? Sure! Hey, I LOVE this song! I am gonna dance a little then maybe… hey! Who put this full beer in my hand?”**
So today, I am tired. And complaining about it because I feel it is my right to, but only because now that I am a good 10 years older than the oldest of the interns running around this joint, you could say I have the perspective to know what it used to be like, back when one late night wouldn’t knock me on my ass for 3 days straight. So they’ve not quite earned the right to be tired. Or something.
Like, this weekend is the big Touch & Go Records 25th anniversary, which, when we purchased 3-day passes last, oh MAY, it sounded like the best fucking idea ever. You know, all of these really creepy noisy punk groups coming back together to celebrate T&G as an awesome Chicago institution and blah blah blah blah. Big Black is getting back together for this? Scratch Acid? Fucking awesome! 30 bands in 3 days? Sign me up!
Now I realize it was the best fucking idea ever in theory. Now that these 3 days are upon us and, at almost 4 o’clock in the afternoon, I am still nursing a hangover of Defcon 4-like proportions, I am more like, “fuck it, who wants to see a bunch of aging punks squeak out 10, three minutes songs in a dirty parking lot?”
And like, just the other night, my friend Jen invited me to hang out at her friends Steve’s house before we were to go out to see a rock show at the Double Door. “You know, drink a couple of beers, hang out on his roof in the nice weather and all,” she said.
So I was thinking, roof top! Nice weather! Beer! Sounds lovely, let’s do this!
Turns the roof was really just that, a ROOF. Not a deck or a slab, or even a fire escape type thing. It was a flat, dirty ROOF. That had just recently been tarred or something, because by the end of the night I was COVERED in the stuff.
But the VERY best part about the roof experience? The way to get up to this roof? Through a tiny freaking hole in the apartment’s ceiling off the back porch climbing up a rickety ladder that I was pretty sure had been fashioned by Chicago’s very first Polish immigrant back in the mid-1800’s that's clearly survived the great Chicago fire, only to be later left in the basement of the building until some enterprising University of Chicago grad student unearthed it, dragged it up to the tiny hole in the roof and said, “it’ll do.”
Basically the thing felt like it was going to snap in two on my way up and I realized that once I was on that roof I may never come down and holy shit, the view of the Sears Tower sure is pretty, but at what point would it be too embarrassing to have the Chicago Fire Dept come get me down? And would I actually wet my pants before I let that happen?
So, I spent the night perched upon a roof top air conditioning unit, listening to NOFX trying to avoid being covered in tar or tar-like substances thinking, “ten years ago, this would have been the most awesome night ever. But now? Now I just want a comfortable lawn chair and a nearby bathroom I don’t have to risk a 20 foot drop into a pile of splintered wood in order to get to.”
Clearly, 4pm hangovers leave me one prolific curmudgeon.
Have a nice weekend,
*I almost said LSD trip, but then I realized that sounded so 1960’s and I may be old but not THAT old, thankyouverymuch. Acid just happened to make a big comeback in the early 90’s yanno.
** please notice how I take absolutely no personal responsibility for drinking too much. You see, someone else put the beer in my hand, there is no way it would have wound up there other otherwise. NO way.