XX: Brains fly through space

This title courtesy of a fragment from a summary of an episode of Futurama ("The Day the Earth Stood Stupid.") Coming completely out of context, the scrap of a synopsis is strangely absurd and I like it. I oughtta infuse this blog with a bit more absurdist humour.

As noted in earlier posts, I haven't been around much lately because the tedium of my existence is hampering my interested in doing anything. It's a vicious cycle from which I'll be free someday I hope, but until then I have to slog along trapped in this terrible routine.

Mercifully I did at least one interesting thing lately, and that was that I went to Becky's last night for a minor bash (as compared to Cary's in Hamilton a few weeks ago, which qualifies as a more "major" bash, with all due respect to Becky and her bash.) There was not a whole lot to tell, although I did get intoxicated and get into what I can only assume was an enlightening conversation about religion with Anisah. I say assume, because apart from vague rememberances of discussing Buddhism (and being pleased to know I can easily recall the four noble truths even when inebriated,) and that it eventually turned to Kill Bill and Lord of the Rings (?!) I can't remember the details of the conversation clearly.

Beware puritans: much of the following concerns moderate discussion of alcoholic beverages.

The evening started with me walking over there, and suffering an unfortunately-timed attack of GI-failure. (Although all things considered, it could've been much worse,) carrying what I have deemed my "drinking kit," which inclues no fewer than three bottles of Stella Artois, a bottle opener (which I left there, dagnabbit,) and a bottle of chilled water, carried in my presently-unoccupied laptop bag.

The night ended with Pat, Chris F. and I escorting Lauren Wing home, despite it being far out of all our ways. Granted, the dark streets are no place for an unescorted young lady after 1, or even well before. After that, we continued to (very loudly,) discuss action figures and cartoons, in a way three drunken teenage boys might.

It was a good night. Not great, not perfect, but good. I've reached the point where I know my limits and can behave myself accordingly (as far as drinking goes.) The amount I drink is a good measure for getting loose, relaxing, and not being hung over the next morning.

Not everybody does. Eric, for example, greeted me upon my return. He was out on the porch with Brandon, obviously intoxicated. The problem with Eric is that he takes a number of pills that hamper his ability to hold his drink. The amount of liquor that gets me to the point where I was when I got home gets Eric way into being smashed. Despite his girth, his tolerance is quite low. I've always boasted that comparatively I am the best handler of booze of the three of us, but I have nothing to substantiate this -- I don't drink with family. Ever. It's a policy of mine that irks Eric with its seeming pointlessness (as do many other things that aren't really any of his business - see: the computer fight from a few weeks ago.) I suppose my best rationale is that I like to keep drinking for times when I can cut loose with friends and be away from the pressures of home and family life. Dragging alcohol into those family situations makes it somehow less special. It's not that I'm afraid i'll get drunk in front of my aunts or mom or brothers. I just prefer that not be my environment.

As a result, I've never gotten drunk with Brandon and Eric. I might someday, and make good on my pledge that I could drink Brandon under the table. My best defense is that I've never gotten so drunk that I couldn't clean up after my own vomit (Eric,) or started speaking in an inexplicable/terrible British accent (Brandon.)

There's more... not about last night, but just about life in general and my current situation in particular, but I can't get into it now because it's late and I'm tired. Hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to muster up some inspiration and get some real work done.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto