I was torn yesterday. Would I spend another night in Chicago, sloth-like, content, and with a belly full of pizza, or return to Pittsburgh, and dance myself into oblivion?
You know what I did.
It was worth sitting next to the old man and the impossibly cute lady who spoke of their adoration for Obama for over an hour. I was nicely buzzed when I got off the plane. I headed to the club in my "street" clothes, and proceeded to get "Nick Nolte" drunk by about one AM. Somewhere between one and two thirty, I got to the peak of drunk. The perfect drunk. Utopia drunk. "Robert Downey Jr." drunk! Good times with great people.
Sometimes, life is just perfect, if only for a brief, fleeting moment. Those moments, however, can be stored in the soul and used for sustenance until another one comes along to refuel you.
After witnessing the epic amounts of money and effort my parents and their friends put into attending Jimmy Buffet shows, I'm convinced the man is running some sort of a cult. He has his own shitty beer, his own shitty tequila, his own shitty restaurants, his own shitty radio station, his own shitty clothing line, and his own shitty island somewhere. It all perfectly complements his supremely shitty music.
Jimmy Buffet is like a musical casino. You wander in, and when you want to leave, you have to fight your way back out, often getting distracted by some garish thing.
One thing's for sure. You'll leave poorer than when you came in, but as long as you had fun, I guess it's worth it. After all, not everyone has, will have, or can be taught, good taste.
I found red pants in Chicago.
Just one video after all them fancy words, but it's a doozy!
Duran Duran will never lose "it." Still cooler than whatever shit bands you listen to! Dance into the fire!
Well, guess I should put on clothes now.
That's bad. Potentially really bad.-BK
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