It’s been over a year since the last time I took a stroll down Livejournal lane. I wanted to make it a common feature to share with you some old missives that were written when I was really, really, really trashed in college. Over the span of four years, I fancied myself a young Thomas deQuincy, Aldous Huxley, or Baudelaire, but with no insight into the human condition, and a real penchant for spending eight paragraphs talking about a yummy cheeseburger. My Livejournal elicited many comments from friends who expressed pity, and often ganged up on me like some sort of goofy online intervention. Perhaps the most vocal of my friends was Zoya, who once told me that when I’m strapped for ideas on this here blog I should rummage through the archives of my LiveJournal for some of my old writings. After all, it’ll probably be funnier than faking my way through a blog post when I can’t will myself to be funny enough for you. According to her, including things like IM transcripts or old journals in a blog is all the rage these days. So now, with a sparkly-clean, sound mind (that can only come from months or years of sobriety) I’m ready to glance over my old Livejournal entries.
The old entry that I will be posting today was written in the wee hours following the 2005 NBA draft. For several years, my high school friends and I would buy tickets to attend the draft (held at Madison Square Garden theater) and make an event of it. We would drink and yell obscenities at the ESPN analysts broadcasting from the event, and one time we successfully got Mike Tirico to give us the finger during a commercial break (What finally set him off, you ask? I yelled at him, “Mike Tirico, take off your clothes!”). That was before the event coordinators hired heightened security to keep attendees from getting too riled up and cursing on national television broadcast. Anyway, it was always a good time with good friends. Except for 2005, the last year I attended the draft. I had just graduated college, wasn’t working, and was smoking a ridiculous amount of weed. I still remember the horror and the hilarity I felt as the events of the evening unfolded. See for yourself what a douchebag I am!
6-24-05 @ 02:23am “what did you expect?”
somehow, before the events of this evening unfolded, i had a preminition. i kept telling people, “i’m going to be remembered years from now as “that guy,” the wanton drunk at the 2005 NBA Draft VIP reception. i must’ve repeated that line twenty times today while joking with co-workers and friends. at the time i honestly felt that it was a complete invention of my subconscous. i was joking.
unfortunitely, it all came true. every horrible detail.
i got into the city at about 4:30 this afternoon, and met my friend evan at his nyu dorm to take some pre-reception bong rips, and chill. we each took maybe 8-10 hits, and then decided to take the a-train to madison square garden. of course, we were completely fucked up and didn’t go to the right place, we actually had to go to the westin hotel to pick up our tickets. above ground after exiting the subway, i slithered over to a cop to ask “where the directions were,” and i could’ve sworn he said 47th and 7th. yeah, that guy was a fucking liar. it was actually on like, 42nd and 8th. way to go, NYPD!
so we get to the westin late and we accidentally walked in the wrong door, which was sort of cool because all the basketball players who were invited to the draft were there with their agents, so we got to see the players up close. there was this 7-foot 5-inch russian dude that completely towered over everybody. after a few minutes found our way into the VIP reception room and commenced drinking beer and red wine.
the fact that we started drinking is very important, because we continued drinking up until the the end of the reception, at which time we got in line to recieve autographs from three retired NBA players. everyone else finished their last drink, but i for some reason lined-up with my glass of red wine still in my hand, and we were all giggling and high and drunk and retarded, and I could see the look on the ex-basketball players’ faces as we walked up to the table. they must have been thinking, like, “ok, here are the young kids who came just for the booze.” so i go to put my drink down and take out something for them to autograph the free promotional photographs with, and i totally knocked my glass over and red wine spilled everywhere. i know it got on me, and i’m pretty sure some of it hit walt frazier, but if any of it got on kenny thomas’ amazingly fashionable white tuxedo, i am so, so sorry kenny. i’m SUCH an ass. a wanton drunk. hopped up on drugs.
So there you have it. I’m hard-pressed to think of a more embarrassing moment from my life that could trump that one, but if you know of one (Ian? Matt? Z? Jack!? KEN!? Nicci? Sam? Lindsey!? Somebody!?), please feel free to tell me about it in the comments section.
And, last but certainly not least, one of my good friends and part-time Swan Fungus guest writer Sam is selling a rare Harmony Korine book on eBay. Sam was in the hospital last week and finally learned all about the joys of Dilaudid. You can help him pay his medical bills or whatever when you place a bid on his copy of A Crack Up At The Race Riots.
March 10th, 2009
Doesn’t sound that embarrassing to me.
March 11th, 2009
I think my favorite embarrassing Evan story was one I heard only second hand, the time you were on pot and feeling paranoid on the train and the man in the seat next to you said something to you that you couldn’t understand and you asked him to repeat himself three times and he was saying ‘please do not use me as your armrest’ or something like that, the actual wording was much funnier. Please refresh my memory, it was good stuff.
March 11th, 2009
when trying to think of a more embarrassing moment for you, the first image that came to mind was 2 halloweens ago at the end of the night, you laying down on my front lawn pretending to be a mermaid, in a long black wig and make up, cocktail dress half off. i’m sure you’d be more embarrassed if you had been sober enough to remember it.