I only drank two beers last night and then had 12 hours of sleep, after having been awake only four hours. All that sleep gave my body time to heal from the myriad injuries to which I and others have subjected it. My thumb is still sprained from a week ago, but it's gradually improving. I can play guitar again, though it hurts to do so. Today, best of all, is the lack of a hangover. For all the fun of getting drunk, the payback the next day is hardly worth it. It's days like today, vacations from my usual Saturday hangovers, that help me realize the fact that alcohol is just a poison.
"Rory totalled his car?" I guessed.
I was right. Not only that, he'd hit another car, and then attempted to drive away from the scene. But his car was too screwed up to continue for very far. So he tried to make his get away on foot. But he was too badly injured. His arm was cut and he was bleeding. So he tried to hide. The cops caught him though. He's in jail now, charged with felony hit and run and driving under the influence. To get out he must raise a $4000 bail. Leah and that guy Ocean from the C&O had both spent the night in jail as well, for being drunk in public. To be drunk in a car is evidently defined as drunk in public in this state. I could well have gone with those folks last night. No doubt if I had, I too would have spent the night in jail. My sixth sense saved my ass yet again. Remember the carnage on Carter's Mountain?
Rory, a British subject, may well be deported.
Out society holds him in contempt. The whole lurid story was on the local teevee news this morning, complete with Rory's full name.
He's in jail now, charged with felony hit and run and driving under the influence. To get out he must raise a $4000 bail.
Still, it's hard to feel sorry for him when he consistently refuses to learn from his mistakes. He anticipated this car accident on his website, for Christ's sake.
Leah went off to be a waitress at the Main Street restaurant called Southern Culture, and I stayed home and watched teevee, mostly The ABBA Movie on VH1. I remember back when I was a kid in the 70s, I rather preferred ABBA to most stuff on the radio. I think I liked the fact that it didn't sound much like the rock and roll and disco that was then popular. I also like Blondie, perhaps for similar reasons. What's odd in both of these cases is that at the time I also had a peculiar dislike for female vocalists. This dislike persisted in some form up until only three or four years ago. Perhaps I should say what I think of ABBA now, seeing them in a historically fictionalized pseudo-documentary. I like the music still, if only for reasons of nostalgia, but maybe there's more here than that. Their voices remind me of Deya's mother, a Swedish ex-patriate. But the look, the look, oh my god. They look so horrible! Those flowing proto-glam white clothes so popular at the time, they're so ridiculous. And the haircuts! The ear-to-ear wrap-around bangs on the two girls horrify me. I'm sure they were the ancestor of the mullet of the 80s. Last of all, ABBA's stage presence could be characterized as nothing short of dorky.
Monster Boy dressed up in a little old lady dress in anticipation of a date with gothic Amy while I gradually became sleepy, eventually taking a brief nap on the couch.
I ended up discussing the Rory situation with the various people there. It was such a preposterous story that we found ourselves chuckling over it. Not that it doesn't suck to be Rory right now, but if an intelligent bloke like him can't learn from his mistakes, then you'll have to accept me finding some humour in this. Had Rory been some stranger and drunkenly slammed into my car in the manner of Friday night, I'd have no sympathy for him at all. He's lucky that no one was seriously injured by his foolishness.
There were also a number of people (both boys and girls) with a seeming unbounded love for the extreme. These tended to wear black boots and have closely cropped hair. But, unlike the somewhat stylistically similar skinheads and other anti-intellectual types, they prided themselves on being able to talk about such high-brow things as the subtle nuances in John Waters films.
In general, I was well behaved. Beer doesn't have much effect on me. Someone else, however, puked in the bathroom and stunk up the whole house.
When there were few people left, I walked back home, checked my email, and went to sleep.
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