Okay...

...let's try this again.

Here's the truncated version of last week:

Thursday night-many drinks, both various and sundry, were had at The Grasshopper. My usual bunch of drinky pals were there. Much fun was had. Much money was spent. The liquid menu included, but was not limited to:

$1.00 Drafts
Wild Turkey shots (of course)
"Mind Erasers"
"Dr. Peppers"
"Washington Apples"
and other random concoctions of an alcoholic variety.

Friday night-saw Frankie Goes To Englewood (www.frankiegoes.com) at Casey's in Wayne. I'm not the biggest '80's pop fan (to say the least), but this band kicks ass. Good stuff. I ended up at The Hop (big surprise), revisiting the previous night's menu.

Saturday..oh shit-what a pisser of a night. I played down in Belmar with Scotch Logic. I don't even remember the name of the bar, but it was a blast. We had two hotel rooms for the night. The singer, Phil, and I drove down together, and hit a few parties before the gig. Phil used to live and work in Belmar, and I'll be dammed if that motherfucker doesn't know just about everyone in that town.

Everywhere we went, we were treated like "rock stars." The gig was packed, and afterwards the whole band went from house to house-meeting people and (most importantly) being offered booze and drugs. Beautiful.

We "liberated" a few bottles of whisky from several houses, and returned to our hotel rooms. It's difficult to describe the rest of the night without incriminating everyone involved. Suffice to say, the proceedings were the stuff of legend.

It's not every night you get a tutorial on the difference between the "lucky thumb," and the "stinky pinky."

When Sunday morning checkout reared it's ugly head, our only recourse was to continue drinking. I brushed my teeth with Jack Daniels (I'm not proud of this-I'm just reporting the facts), and we headed out to The Tropical Pub.

It turns out that at noon every Sunday The Pub opens for "BINGO Brunch." This consists mainly of drinking either Screwdrivers, Mimosas, or Bloody Marys while eating greasy breakfast food and playing BINGO.

The announcer/D.J. was a funny motherfucker, and the crowd of regulars all understood the rules/traditions/bylaws of the game. There's way too much detail to go into here, but I will never forget the unexpected joy of shouting out "O!," or "Asshole!," at the appropriate moments. Also, there was an Irish pipe and drum group that played traditional songs periodically throughout the day. It made me proud to be 1/4 Irish. Good music. I thank Phil for talking me into sticking around at The Pub when common sense dictated that I go home and rest. It's the most fun I've had on a Sunday afternoon in a while.

Actually, aside from all of that, I think my favourite part of the day was when I left the bar and walked the half-a-block to the beach. I hadn't been to "the shore" all year, and it was surprisingly nice to sit upon the sand, half drunk, enjoying the fresh ocean air and watching the people milling about. Some were flying elaborate kites. Some were basking in the overcast sun. Some were simply walking along the shoreline, hand in hand, lost in the moment. It made me feel happy, yet somehow wistfully sad. I was reminded of all of the times past when I had someone special to walk along the beach with, and how I'm currently alone.

Holy shit-how maudlin.

Fuck this-I'm wrapping it up for now. I'm tired.

Tomorrow, I'll conclude this (unintentionally un-truncated) tale. There is much yet left to type, and I need to gather my thoughts.

Also, I'm drunk.

-Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion in which our hero shows up at The Ringside Pub already completely hammered from seven hours of excessive alcohol consumption...

WILL HE SURVIVE?

(Well, yeah, obviously I survived, considering I'm the one typing this account of my own actions. There goes the "suspense factor" of the whole thing, I guess. Shit.)