11.19.07
5:34 pm
That actually sums the whole thing up quite nicely.
Hm.
Well, for those who CAN'T read between the lines:
I traveled with Reinhold Von Tuckermann via the Big Gray Dog to Washington Direct Current this weekend to cavort with one William James Buckley Pomersantz.
It was chinky.
We met Brooke (good people), Wilbo's roommate/good friend and, as expected, her uber-religious 15 year old sister uttered the words, "he looks like a statue" when she caught sight of me mere moments after waking up Saturday morning before I'd had a chance to put my hair up.
Happens all the time, but I always enjoy when it does.
Means things are running the way they should, by buckets!
Friday night, we embarked upon our third attempt at actually finishing the Big Lebowski drinking game without getting distracted by Asian girls (not the kissing kind, the pretentious, coke-tooting and somber, soul-sucking kind), fly-blown chicken, fire escapes and/or me refusing to drink anymore Irished-Up vodka milk.
The enormity of the task was deceptively easy.
Phil and Will, leather gulleted gunslinger that they are, stuck with Beers while I, with my girlish sensibilities, vapors and monthlies stuck with Sapphire Gin and ginger ale.
Gin tastes like pine trees/ Pine Sol.
We also had two huge packages of Saltines (to soak up the aggravated alcohol damage), hummus and pita, a pack of Twinkies and a pack of Snowballs (the Limited Edition Winter White kind).
They were more disgusted and nonplussed at the consumption of the snack cakes than the Gin.
Anyway, to make a long and bleary story somewhat shorter, I told Brooke (first impression time!!!) that we had played this game in the presence of bitches before, and she WAS NOT a bitch.
I was VERY VEHEMENT on that note.
Very.
VERY.
We then proceeded to take five hours to watch the whole movie...
well...
sort of...
I took five hours, while Phil and Will took about 4 hours and 35 minutes.
You see, the two of them feel asleep on Will's couch before the end of the movie, making ME the first and ONLY Champion of the Fatty Patrol Executive Board Members Big Lebowski drinking game.
I hereby officially retire from the aforementioned game for the remainder of my natural life.
Thank you.
Also thanks to the BLDG, Saturday and Sunday had a bit of a pall cast across them.
Saturday consisted of eating the best burger in D.C., then getting Will his B-day gift.
After more deliberation than even I am used to, we consulted a slightly batrachian employee at the GameStop in the Pentagon City Mall and made our purchase:
Wario Ware: Smooth Moves.
Happy Birthday Will.
Here is some crazy, chinked-out shit.
We then returned to Will's home and rolled around slowly for a while before deciding to check out No Country For Old Men, the Coen Bros. directed adaptation of the Cormac McCarthy novel.
It was an amazing movie.
See it.
Well, that is if you enjoy things that are excellent.
If, you know, you like things that suck, see something else, but if you enjoy things that are great and perfect, see the movie.
Anyway, afterwards we had pasta and something called a Kit Kat Bar at a swanky DC chow house.
I then walked face first into a one way sign and proceeded to bend it in half.
The Dept. of Transportation will receive a VERY stern letter from me in regards to the minimum height requirements of there street signs.
We then played Wario Ware for about three hours.
This game is totally fucked and beautiful.
I can't describe it.
This was the first time I had played a Wii and I can see where, if utilized correctly, the control set up would indeed revolutionize the industry.
I also applaud the Japanese for trying to get all those fart ass gamers moving around a bit, even if it is only to shave a sheep or to balance a panda or to pluck a nose hair.
Sunday morning, Will and I made French Toast after Phil's Burnt Plastic Soup didn't pan out.
Later we had an excellent lunch at a Thai restaurant and went to Barnes & Noble to buy Cormac McCarthy books.
Soon after, Philip and I rejoined our friends at Greyhound and spun back to New Yawk.
All in all, solid good, but an overwhelming feeling of "why the fuck aren't we doing this more often" seemed to pervade the occasion.
We will have to work on that in the coming decade, if Will has a weekend free and it is not too cold.
In the end, I left my brush at Will's but still enjoyed myself.
Enough so, at least, to comment upon it here.
Yours internally,
Knox Harrison
Famous Film Artist
No comments:
Post a Comment