September 21, 2003 - 1:02 AM

And On the Eighth Day, He Drank.

Apologies again to my regular readers for my lack of updates. It's feast or famine at work, it seems, where I go two weeks, working only one day each week, then I work 12+ hour days for seven days straight. I'm quite exhausted and don't have time to keep you apprised of my day to day activities. So back off.

I would like to thank the mavens of Drunky But Funky for helping me unwind after this blistering week. (Just out of curiousity, what the heck is the etymology of maven? Oh, sweet, it's Yiddish.) And I would like to thank Nick for being my designated driver/mother-figure. And I would like to boo Interscope Records for making me work today with a sapping hangover. Boooooo.

What is Drunky but Funky, you may be asking? It's a pentaverate of debauchery, is what it is. A cartel of forbidden indulgences. A group of friends who just like to drink. A lot. And write about it. So of course I'm a fan, but really, who wouldn't be? I've been following their escapades throughout the summer and couldn't pass up an open invitation to a seasonally festive "get-ass-faced-drunk" shindig which happily fell on my day off. I was planning to drink way beyond excess on my next free day anyways; and it looked like I wouldn't have to work this weekend, so I could suffer the consequences in the privacy of my own apartment.

My day started around 3 PM as I was roused from my slumbers by a call from work asking about some CDs that had to be shipped to another studio (I had gotten home around 6 that morning and fallen asleep around 8). After lolling about in bed for another hour, I called Nick to see if we could hang out before he had to go to a co-worker's birthday dinner. He was amenable, so I got dressed, ate a peach, and drove on over. I convinced him that we should hit the dinner, then go to Santa Monica for the DrunkyFunky fun. Twisted his arm in a gentle manner.

Dinner was fine, a bunch of people who were at Nick's party back in August were in attendance so the conversations were delightfully dorky. I had a glass of wine which got me on my way to full lubrication. We were leaving as things died down about quarter after 10, when I got a call from the studio telling me that I might have to work on Saturday depending on if Linda Perry's session didn't finish their work that night and needed to continue the next day, in which case I'd have to cover for the assistant whose mom was having a birhday Saturday. That sentence certainly was convoluted. As you can probably guess, I was very much NOT stoked about this news, but agreed to do it if they needed me, but to let me know as soon as possible. A quick little tennis match in my head (should I continue to get drunk, or be responsible and sit this one out) was lost by common sense, and so Nick and I hopped in the car to book it across L.A. to the west side (we were in Los Feliz on the east).

My expert navigational skills got us lost in downtown L.A. which was actually pretty cool. Very little traffic amongst the architectural wonders allowed us to appreciate the strange beauty of it all without the congestion fueled paranoia I usually get while metropolis driving. We finally found an on ramp for the 10 West and cruised to our destination: O'Brien's Pub.

As we entered, there was a particularly Funky looking bunch right at the entrance next to the bar and I recognized some of the members from a Television Without Pity soiree I'd been to. After situating Nick at the bar in front of SportsCenter with a coke (he was my sober chaperone for the evening. I was his amusement.) and arming myself with a beer, I ventured into the throng and, after standing there in one of those strange-vibe moments where conversation peters out on the other party's side because you've invaded their speaking space and they aren't sure if they know you (but maybe are too drunk to remember you) or you're just some weird person with a lack of territorial sense (which, you know, I am), I offered a tentative "drunky but funky?" And their skeptical looks melted into joyful welcomings. I was introduced around with much drunken hailings and, as they'd been there for an hour and a half already, urged to catch up on drinks.

After a bit of socializing, figuring out who was who, what they did, what they were drinking, someone made the decision to have everyone do a round of the established Drunky But Funky Drink of Choice: The Irish Car Bomb. If the DBF Five were gods, then I reckon this would be their ambrosia, their heavenly nectar. Start with a half glass of Guiness; take a shot glass and fill it half with Jameson, half with Bailey's. Drop the shot glass full on into the Guiness and chug quickly. Say "yummy." The End.

As the drinks were being passed around, we stood in a crowded circle (there were maybe 10 or 12 people in the group); a toast was raised to me and everyone downed their drinks. I think I was chosen as the toast target because: this was my first time having an Irish Car Bomb; several of the people were reluctant to take part until the peer pressure of "the new guy" having one pushed them over the edge; DbF were just happy to have someone respond to their invitation who wasn't a part of their normal crew; and, well, the only reason really for toasting is because it's followed by a drink, so just toast the nearest convenient thing, and clear the way for the drinking, baby!

As that delicious drink settled into my tum-tum, I grabbed a bar stool and worked on a succession of potent potables: a double shot of Glenlivet on the rocks; a Kamikaze (provided by Nick); 2 double shots of Johnnie Walker Red, straight up (one deviously ordered by Nick while I was in the bathroom); and another beer. Heather, Jessica, and I think Lauren discussed their various sports fanaticisms and their Football Pool picks for the week. Pretty bitchin' to hear girls talking fervently about football with much more knowledge than me. Of course, I'm still wondering how Priest Holmes became the hot shit RB in the NFL when just a handful of years ago he was merely "eh" for the Baltimore Ravens. But that's what you get when most of what you know about football is gleaned from Maddens 2001 and 2002 and Super Tecmo Bowl.

Hey, does anyone know the story of Lemmiwinks? Heather described his story quite vividly to me, causing me to laugh until my cheeks hurt, and now I'm curious to see his hijinks for myself. Can you help me out?

The rest of the night became quite blurry, as if I was jumping from one scene in a movie to another with no narrative flow, but I do remember some raucous singing and, um...other stuff. And then the lights got brighter as they played Semisonic's "Closing Time" and we all had to leave. Nick helped me stagger out and I thanked the crew for welcoming me into their coterie.

*psst* dudes, where the hell was the infamous scarf?

Nick took me back to his place (no, I didn't get lucky. I never get lucky with him. Bastard. hee hee.) where we watched some tv, played some baseball on the playstation (final score was 20-19, I won, but only because he made the game really easy for me by simplifying my hitting. I also had 5 pitchers ejected for hitting batters because I couldn't control where the ball was being located.), then zonked out. Before I fell asleep, though, I did get a call from the studio telling me I wouldn't have to work Saturday because Linda Perry was finished. I was grateful.

Cut to 9:30 AM. My cell phone rings. "Paul, you have to come in to work. RF (the producer I was working with this past week) has an urgent mix to do. They start at 1 PM." Oh but the obscenities did fly from my mouth after I hung up. My head felt like a carrott on a shishkebab skewer. My stomach felt like an oyster looks. I swallowed two Ibuprofen and a tall glass of water, then curled up on the couch in the fetal position for an hour. Nick's roommate LDBL was already up doing laundry and he made me some sausage and eggs for breakfast while Nick staggered out of his room and offered his cursing sympathy.

I was finally able to walk woozily to my car at 11:30, and gingerly drove to work. I think a lot of moaning was involved. I found out that I wouldn't be able to get into Studio B where my session was until 12:30 because some foreign kids were getting a lesson in recording in there, so I made myself some tea and slumped on a couch for a while. The headache disappeared finally, my stomach went from voluptuous to queasy to burbling, and I jumped right in to setting up for the session. Meh. And what should have been a short session ended up going on and on and on and I have to go back in tomorrow to finish it up.

Thank god I usually have no life, or else I would really have no life.

Now Listening To : Jorane- Vent Fou
Random Thought : Crap. One week of baseball left and I won't finish in first in any of my Roto Leagues. Well, maybe 1.

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