Tuesday, March 16, 2004
Dance cracker, dance!
Last night I went to a party at an Advocate business writer's house and toasted my imperialist forebearers by drinking gin and tonics (emphasis on the gin) all night. Chad (the business writer) throws great parties. He is a relentless booze bully, chastising anyone who mixes any drink with less than 50 percent alcohol and shunning them completely if they're holding a Coke.
At his parties the music is always blaring, people are sloppy and he inevitably fires up his barbecue at 3 a.m. whether or not people are hungry (and you better fucking eat or you're in trouble).
In my gin-filled haze I actually started dancing to Jay Z to shouts of "Dance, cracker, dance!" from a large black woman on the couch.
Today, still shaking off the effect of last night's gin I walked over to a send-off party for a friend of mine who is moving to Milwaukee. I meant not to drink at all but there on the porch, like a boozy beacon, was my buddy, the gay-Republican-editorial writer-lush, wine glass in hand, and I knew this night would be much like the last. Oh well, you don't want to give your liver too many days off or it'll get lazy.
At his parties the music is always blaring, people are sloppy and he inevitably fires up his barbecue at 3 a.m. whether or not people are hungry (and you better fucking eat or you're in trouble).
In my gin-filled haze I actually started dancing to Jay Z to shouts of "Dance, cracker, dance!" from a large black woman on the couch.
Today, still shaking off the effect of last night's gin I walked over to a send-off party for a friend of mine who is moving to Milwaukee. I meant not to drink at all but there on the porch, like a boozy beacon, was my buddy, the gay-Republican-editorial writer-lush, wine glass in hand, and I knew this night would be much like the last. Oh well, you don't want to give your liver too many days off or it'll get lazy.
