So hopefully you've read our previous posts about your trip to New Orleans and Voodoo Fest 2007. Hoosier's pre-trip outlook can be read here and pictures from the trip also up. So now, months later, it's time for my full recap and a few thoughts.
The way I see it the trip can be split into three chapters: The drive, the festival, and the city. Im going to do a post for each.
The drive was a long one, riddled with stupidity and stuttering from the start, which I take full responsibility for. We left my place heading the wrong direction, literally. I had to show Roc the bridge over the Savannah river. Besides being the source of a few good stories, it has traditionally marked the beginning or end of many a long drive. Also, on a nice foggy morning, I love driving up the bridge, as it rises into the nothingness, its the best way to begin a trip, but more on that later. After seeing the bridge, I put us back on course heading south, but not for long.
Only an hour or so later I was taking us on another detour, this time to see a friend in Brunswick. Alex, is one those people whose charm and childlike humility can only be found south of the Mason Dixon, and despite his bushy red beard and extensive tattoo collection, you instantly feel at ease and free to speak as if you've known each-other for several years. Add a few bowls,and you will end up babbling back and forth. I hadn't seen him much since he moved south of Savannah, so why not stop along the way?
So it was about 9, 10 at night now and Alex was busy convincing us how insane we were for planning on driving all the way to New Orleans that night, and I was still locked in a state of denial, saying "No. It won't be to bad. We'll pull over and sleep for a few hours on the side of the road and we'll be fine." Either way, it was time to get back on the road. And after popping our Whataburger cherries, and seeing proof that they like things bigger in Texas, we were back on 95 south. I would now like to say that there was no really good way to do this trip that would accommodate our schoolwork, wallets, and schedule. We had to be in New Orleans by Friday afternoonish and is at-least a 10+ hour drive from Savannah. Rather then waking at the earliest hours of the night and driving direct, I decided to take a more leisurely pace
Soon after, it was time to head west, and that means the Bible Beltway, I-10. For many young, liberal northerners, this would be the time to shit on the local Christians responsible for the billboards reminding us that their is only one white male God, whose politics seem to fall inline with American fascists like Curt Weldon. But these signs really don't bother me, because as fucked as they are, and as evil as the frauds are who promote and profit from spewing this bile, at-least their is a sort of honesty in them. Which is more then you can say for most, if not all, conglomerates who use their sock piles of reserve cash to create giant eye-sores of lies, false-promises, and general phonyism. This why I cant wait to drive across Montana and North Dakota, because I have this idea in my head of an open highway drive, where you can see the horizon in any direction, and no billboards for a hundred miles. Now that I have that out of my system, we'll get back to the trip.
Next stop was Tallahassee, to see another lost friend. Like Alex, Rush has those extra hospitality and easy going genes that don't seem to like cold temperatures. So, we chatted about this, that, and the third over a few beers, and not very slowly or subtly, sleep crept upon all of us. I think we got to his place around 1:45 or 2, and we planned on sleeping until 4. We were still about 6 hours from New Orleans, and about 8 into the trip. After we awoke and thanked our generous host, we were off, again. 6 AM stop at Waffle House (A Waffle House along a major highway, has to be one of the safest places ever. At the right times, its a though looking crowd in there. You'd have to be batshitcrazy to start trouble in a Waffle house.). Two hour nap at the road stop before the Louisiana boarder. Short controlled burst, think of the Halo 3 Battle rifle. Shot people in the head, take cover. Drive a few hundred miles, take a nap.
The coolest part of the drive is certainly driving along the causeways of Alabama/Mississippi/Louisiana. As I said before, theirs something bizarrely powerful about driving on a near transparent structure in the air over water; ... simply its like flying. At least it is to me. And with a low thick fog, you plunge into the clouds and you find yourself in a unfamiliar context. The last miles into New Orleans couldn't be more unnerving , and upsetting. Communities one after another in ruin, deserted, empty. But that is were I will pick up in the next part of this Voodoo 07 Recap.
Next, my time in New Orleans.
Showing posts with label Debauchery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Debauchery. Show all posts
1.2.08
Its a small world, even with all this cyberspace.
This morning I woke up and read Hoosier's post, and thought to myself, "Good. My post worked, gota keep going." But I agreed we should return to the subject central to all of our thoughts... not how Mets still can't threaten the Phils, but how this road trip will proceed. I then decided to look around at our competition, to see if their was prominent road trip blog out there that was stealing our interested public. Well if there is I didn't find it yet because Google's top result for "road trip blog" was far better then I could have hoped. I found DriveAndAHalf.com and started reading. It looks like they more or less abandon the site two years ago after a mere six posts, so if nothing else we're doing better then them, but I kept reading.
After a little while it became apparent that the contributors where, like yours trurly, of college age. I guess the awe of the car wares off by age 30, or your life becomes overrun with "more important" issues that leave little time to drive for pleasure. Then after reading still further, I began to sense that they were from or traveling in the Philadelphia area, on roads I grew-up on. The Blue Route. Route 1. The PA Turnpike. Then my heart skipped a beat as it grew clear they went to school in New Jersey, "These schmucks go to TCNJ" I said out loud to my empty bedroom. I hadn't read it, but deep in my soul I knew it to be the truth. Now completely unconcerned with whatever pulp I was reading, they appear to like horses, I started scrolling through text and pictures, looking for conformation of their enrollment at "the NGay." Then three quarter of the way down the page, in a post over two years old, BAM! "We left TCNJ at around 7am." After a brief period of laughter, I knew what had to be done.
First I want to make it known that when our trip does begin, New Jersey will not be on the itinerary. Second I have been to The College Of New Jersey, and a dear friend of ours will soon be graduating from the college formally known as Trenton State, and he may or may not be joining us on our big adventure. After multiple visits to the school, I think I would feel as comfortable walking 5 city blocks in Camden as I do walking through the dorms of the NGay. Luckily the students their always provide the cure for my discomfort, alcohol. Entering the campus is like leaving reality, and during the drive their you saw logic, reason, and good judgement commit a group suicide by pushing each other off the Scudder Falls Bridge. Usually with in an hour off being trapped in confines of their, "we wish were Princeton" red brick, I've started drinking, and will not stop until the nightmare goes away and I pass out cold. I think it says something when one of my most secure moments their, was sharing a bottom bunk with Hoosier, and this was done soberly mind you.
I should now take a second to say that I do have fond memories of TCNJ, like returning to my friend BD's dorm room to find him in only his breifs, with his head hidden in the trash can he was vomiting into. I also laugh to hear all the ways I agitated, questioned, and even abused the students and their lifestyle during period of drunkenness I do no recall. Although, my crowing achievement is without question pissing in BD's roommate's bed. I feel completely justified in this, although a bit sorry for the Drake, for this is what happens when you put locks on the public (multi-stall) bathrooms, the only restroom on the floor. If there is ever a place that illustrates both the evils and necessity of booze, its that little school in Ewing... Trenton State, um, I mean... The College of New Jersey.
This post is dedicated to the memory of Joe "BD" D'Urso. A true patriot and bro who's friendship was ironically claimed by America's armpit in 2004.
After a little while it became apparent that the contributors where, like yours trurly, of college age. I guess the awe of the car wares off by age 30, or your life becomes overrun with "more important" issues that leave little time to drive for pleasure. Then after reading still further, I began to sense that they were from or traveling in the Philadelphia area, on roads I grew-up on. The Blue Route. Route 1. The PA Turnpike. Then my heart skipped a beat as it grew clear they went to school in New Jersey, "These schmucks go to TCNJ" I said out loud to my empty bedroom. I hadn't read it, but deep in my soul I knew it to be the truth. Now completely unconcerned with whatever pulp I was reading, they appear to like horses, I started scrolling through text and pictures, looking for conformation of their enrollment at "the NGay." Then three quarter of the way down the page, in a post over two years old, BAM! "We left TCNJ at around 7am." After a brief period of laughter, I knew what had to be done.
First I want to make it known that when our trip does begin, New Jersey will not be on the itinerary. Second I have been to The College Of New Jersey, and a dear friend of ours will soon be graduating from the college formally known as Trenton State, and he may or may not be joining us on our big adventure. After multiple visits to the school, I think I would feel as comfortable walking 5 city blocks in Camden as I do walking through the dorms of the NGay. Luckily the students their always provide the cure for my discomfort, alcohol. Entering the campus is like leaving reality, and during the drive their you saw logic, reason, and good judgement commit a group suicide by pushing each other off the Scudder Falls Bridge. Usually with in an hour off being trapped in confines of their, "we wish were Princeton" red brick, I've started drinking, and will not stop until the nightmare goes away and I pass out cold. I think it says something when one of my most secure moments their, was sharing a bottom bunk with Hoosier, and this was done soberly mind you.
I should now take a second to say that I do have fond memories of TCNJ, like returning to my friend BD's dorm room to find him in only his breifs, with his head hidden in the trash can he was vomiting into. I also laugh to hear all the ways I agitated, questioned, and even abused the students and their lifestyle during period of drunkenness I do no recall. Although, my crowing achievement is without question pissing in BD's roommate's bed. I feel completely justified in this, although a bit sorry for the Drake, for this is what happens when you put locks on the public (multi-stall) bathrooms, the only restroom on the floor. If there is ever a place that illustrates both the evils and necessity of booze, its that little school in Ewing... Trenton State, um, I mean... The College of New Jersey.
This post is dedicated to the memory of Joe "BD" D'Urso. A true patriot and bro who's friendship was ironically claimed by America's armpit in 2004.
30.1.08
Shenannigans on a New York City New Year
Firstly, my apologies for neglecting the blog as long as I have. Secondly, nothing has been said thus far regarding our distinguished trip in NYC over New Years. Let me preface this by explaining that my camera plummeted from my backpack strap down underneath the train track as I was boarding our first train, and so, alas, there are no pictures to document the magical occasion. Also, this is told from the perspective of my reportedly dysfunctional memory, so, if I screw up a detail, please forgive me.
I had just finished tutoring two middle school girls, Zoe and Celeste, in American history and science, respectively. After returning home, showering and gathering my essential belongings, I sat downstairs and waited. Moments later light flooded the driveway and I headed outside and got into the back seat of the car. I greeted my loyal friends Joe and Eric. I unearthed The Genie, packed, sparked, and passed, as Eric cranked the music and we cut onto the highway, through the black night, into New Jersey.
After parking the car, leaping down the stairs, heading across the lot to the station and buying tickets at the machine, we beat the train with about 2 minutes to spare. As the train rolled up and came to a stop, my camera was taken from me by cruel gravity. We boarded the train, each found a seat to ourselves, laid our packs down, and Eric and Joe laughed at me. I waved them aside, reasoning that I would retrieve the camera on the return trip. I got into my book, 'The Road', Eric got into his headphones and Joe got sleepy. The train barreled down the tracks, hemorrhaging and reaquiring passengers intermittently. At last I saw the bright lights and monstrous structures; we soon after pulled into the station.
Eric, Joe and I beat our way through the throngs of faces in the station and emerged onto the street. It was not a far walk; from the station to the apartment it was maybe 15 minutes. We arrived. I got the keys from the lobby and we shot up the elevator to the 18th floor, turn left, room b. After throwing our things down, using the bathroom and taking a breath, I mixed some drinks and we visited The Genie. We relaxed and put on the TV; I spoke to my friend and college roommate, Kate, who was in the city and needed a place to stay. There was talk of heading uptown and meeting Brian and Rebecca to hit a bar or two, but this was decided against in favor of finding food. We killed some time until Kate arrived; soon after Ben and Pinks showed up; there was great merriment upon the reassembly of the fellowship. We all went a few rounds with The Genie and headed to the streets, landing on thick, delicious Sicilian pizza slices and sodas. Back at the apt. the night passed more or less without incident (joe's buddy came by to drop off some delicious Fruit)--we put on some music and partied fairly modestly in order to not spoil our appetite for the 'shit show' tomorrow.
We all awoke at various times; everyone was ready to go by the early afternoon I believe, at which time we set in motion the necessary preparations for an epic New Years. Joe, Kate and I trekked downtown to find a liquor store. I purchased a 6-pack of Hoegaarden for my illustrious friend Ben, as well as a sizable bottle of Jack Daniels for myself and Eric. Various other types of beer were purchased. I stopped at Duane Reade on the way home and purchased some victual necessities--eggs, cereal and frozen pizza. Ben had made a huge skilletful of eggs and french toast upon our return. The french toast was a bit iffy, but the eggs were good, and we stuffed our faces. We inhabited the apartment throughout the afternoon into the evening, on account of, apparently the roof terrace is completely closed for the whole winter season. Which I was very angry about because, aside from having an incredible view of the city and its boroughs and bridges, I like to entertain certain hobbies up there. So, we lounged in the apartment, had some drinks, talked things over with The Genie, and waited for our most loyal friend, the flip-flopper, Justin, who had first planned on coming all along, then got 'deathly ill' but hoped to come anyway, then said he couldn't come, then called at the last minute and said he was catching a train. What a guy. Justin was the Gandalf of the Fellowship, and now that he was here, we could continue in our journey. Although by this time I was a good way into the Jack, with not much help from my so-called friend Eric, and was not 100% sure of my ability to walk on this journey.
The plan was to get to a bar called the 'Whiskey Trader', a place at which Ben had a connection that got us a deal. The connection went as follows--Ben had a friend at school whose father owned this bar; his friend rented out the bar from 10:00 to 1:00 on New Years night. We were able to get open bar, top-shelf booze during this time period for only $40; an unbelievable deal in NYC. After Brian and Rebecca came over and we had made the necessary pre-party preparations, we headed down to the street, split up and took a couple cabs uptown, to the mid-town area, around 52nd st. and 5th ave.
There was an awning with painted letters reading 'Whiskey Trader' out front and, inside, there was a long, polished wooden bar along the right-hand wall. When we arrived around 10:00 it was fairly crowded; Ben exchanged some greetings with people he knew from his college, Loyola, and we met up with Simon and Sean, good friend's of Ben's who most of us had met before. There was a DJ playing a mix of some electronic songs as well as some more classic numbers, and two bartenders frantically pouring and serving; the one who I approached was Asian; I kicked it off with a Jagermeister shot with my roommate Brian and then ordered a White Russian and kept them coming for an hour or so. We were all drowning our drinks of choice, pausing for a shot of tequila or some such thing every now and then. I glanced over and observed my ex-girlfriend sloppily making out with a middle aged black guy who I could have sworn was a bouncer. It was around this time that I attempted to calm my stomach with a Heineken, and then continued to order both gin and vodka tonics. We were all good and drunk by now, as the clock approached midnight. The conversation was loud, girls were dancing on the bar, and as the final minutes of 2007 shed away, everyone began yelling and singing and laughing at once. Then the countdown started; I stood up on a stool and we all counted down aloud. On the TV behind the bar, the ball in Times Square dropped. I drunkenly exchanged hugs and words with my roommates, Kate and Brian, as well as my droogs, Ben, Pinks, Justin, Joe and Eric.
Champagne was passed around and all indulged. We all had a few more drinks and joked around for a while. As the clock ran down to 1:00 the crowd began to thin and friends of mine began to head for the door. I went to the coat-rack attendee, but, in my inebriatedness I was unable to find my ticket. I gave up on the brown blazer which I had purchased years before for my high school graduation party ($3.50 at Goodwill) and headed into the street to join Ben, Justin, Pinks, Joe and Eric. It is at this point that my memory becomes largely unreliable. I do remember of the walk back that our good friend Pinks was, as he can always be counted upon to be, belligerent, and was pushing Ben and Justin around, haggling them. Eric reportedly bought 4 hotdogs on the less than 20 block walk back.
We returned to the apartment afterwards, completely, 'shitty', in the parlance of our time, apparently burned a j, which I still do not remember, rounded up The Genie, and began to scrounge around for whatever food we could find. I think I made some french fries, and we had some cereal and ice cream and whatnot. After another hour or two of debauchery, it got to that point where most of us were barely conscious. People began to pass out on the floor; I think I assisted in the sleeping arrangement--there was an inflatable bed, couch cushions, pillows and blankets laid out, and about 8 people packed tight like sardines into the 'living room' of the 1 bedroom apartment. I was fortunate enough to have the bed for myself. I lay down and shut my eyes but was immediately hit with the most unbearable spins I have ever experienced. I felt the 6 or so different kinds of alcohol sloshing around in my stomach and moving quickly up into my throat. I ejected myself from the bed and quickly got to the bathroom, shut the door, and threw up violently for about 5 minutes. I could hear all of my friends laughing through the door. When I emerged Ben told me that Pinks called me a pussy and I told Pinks to go fuck himself and so on, but it was too dark and I was too gone to realize that Pinks was already passed out. I returned to the bed--I returned to the bathroom--bed--bathroom...again and again for what must have been at least 90 minutes. My jerkoff 'friends' erupted into fresh laughter with each of my miserable, defeated returns to the toilet. Finally I had gotten everything out of my stomach, dry heaved for about 10 minutes, and then returned to the bed for the last time, exhausted, slipping into the heavy, inevitable sleep that follows a night of blackout partying.
I woke up around noon with a shrieking headache and stumbled into the main room to find that Justin, Pinks, Simon and Sean had already gotten up in the early hours and left. First of all, how do you get up for a 8:00 train after a night like that, and second of all, the apartment was a shithole, with bedding, dishes and trash everywhere. As Kate, Ben, Joe an Eric slowly woke up, we laughed and reminisced about the night before. I needed something to settle my stomach. We all went down and across the street to jamba juice and I acquired a big fucking smoothie with an energy boost. Afterwards we headed back to the apartment. It was at this point that Kate left to get curry uptown with Brian. I cleaned the majority of the dishes, the couch and the bed, and Joe and Eric vacuumed the floor and threw out the trash. Finally it was done and you could never tell that anything had transpired in the previous 48 hours. I returned the key at the lobby and we headed onto the street, making for the train station. The return journey was unremarkable other than the fact that I was unable to retrieve my camera. We got off the train and into the car; we were all in a stupor from many a late night and many a substance abused, and the hour long ride passed without incident. Upon returning home we all praised the trip as an experience not soon to be forgotten. In the ensuing day friends began to depart to resume school (except for fucking Ben and Justin, who went to the Virgin Islands), a bittersweet experience as always. The final new year of our lives as students had dawned; one can only guess at how many more experiences together our fellowship has ahead of us. I eagerly await the almighty Road.
I had just finished tutoring two middle school girls, Zoe and Celeste, in American history and science, respectively. After returning home, showering and gathering my essential belongings, I sat downstairs and waited. Moments later light flooded the driveway and I headed outside and got into the back seat of the car. I greeted my loyal friends Joe and Eric. I unearthed The Genie, packed, sparked, and passed, as Eric cranked the music and we cut onto the highway, through the black night, into New Jersey.
After parking the car, leaping down the stairs, heading across the lot to the station and buying tickets at the machine, we beat the train with about 2 minutes to spare. As the train rolled up and came to a stop, my camera was taken from me by cruel gravity. We boarded the train, each found a seat to ourselves, laid our packs down, and Eric and Joe laughed at me. I waved them aside, reasoning that I would retrieve the camera on the return trip. I got into my book, 'The Road', Eric got into his headphones and Joe got sleepy. The train barreled down the tracks, hemorrhaging and reaquiring passengers intermittently. At last I saw the bright lights and monstrous structures; we soon after pulled into the station.
Eric, Joe and I beat our way through the throngs of faces in the station and emerged onto the street. It was not a far walk; from the station to the apartment it was maybe 15 minutes. We arrived. I got the keys from the lobby and we shot up the elevator to the 18th floor, turn left, room b. After throwing our things down, using the bathroom and taking a breath, I mixed some drinks and we visited The Genie. We relaxed and put on the TV; I spoke to my friend and college roommate, Kate, who was in the city and needed a place to stay. There was talk of heading uptown and meeting Brian and Rebecca to hit a bar or two, but this was decided against in favor of finding food. We killed some time until Kate arrived; soon after Ben and Pinks showed up; there was great merriment upon the reassembly of the fellowship. We all went a few rounds with The Genie and headed to the streets, landing on thick, delicious Sicilian pizza slices and sodas. Back at the apt. the night passed more or less without incident (joe's buddy came by to drop off some delicious Fruit)--we put on some music and partied fairly modestly in order to not spoil our appetite for the 'shit show' tomorrow.
We all awoke at various times; everyone was ready to go by the early afternoon I believe, at which time we set in motion the necessary preparations for an epic New Years. Joe, Kate and I trekked downtown to find a liquor store. I purchased a 6-pack of Hoegaarden for my illustrious friend Ben, as well as a sizable bottle of Jack Daniels for myself and Eric. Various other types of beer were purchased. I stopped at Duane Reade on the way home and purchased some victual necessities--eggs, cereal and frozen pizza. Ben had made a huge skilletful of eggs and french toast upon our return. The french toast was a bit iffy, but the eggs were good, and we stuffed our faces. We inhabited the apartment throughout the afternoon into the evening, on account of, apparently the roof terrace is completely closed for the whole winter season. Which I was very angry about because, aside from having an incredible view of the city and its boroughs and bridges, I like to entertain certain hobbies up there. So, we lounged in the apartment, had some drinks, talked things over with The Genie, and waited for our most loyal friend, the flip-flopper, Justin, who had first planned on coming all along, then got 'deathly ill' but hoped to come anyway, then said he couldn't come, then called at the last minute and said he was catching a train. What a guy. Justin was the Gandalf of the Fellowship, and now that he was here, we could continue in our journey. Although by this time I was a good way into the Jack, with not much help from my so-called friend Eric, and was not 100% sure of my ability to walk on this journey.
The plan was to get to a bar called the 'Whiskey Trader', a place at which Ben had a connection that got us a deal. The connection went as follows--Ben had a friend at school whose father owned this bar; his friend rented out the bar from 10:00 to 1:00 on New Years night. We were able to get open bar, top-shelf booze during this time period for only $40; an unbelievable deal in NYC. After Brian and Rebecca came over and we had made the necessary pre-party preparations, we headed down to the street, split up and took a couple cabs uptown, to the mid-town area, around 52nd st. and 5th ave.
There was an awning with painted letters reading 'Whiskey Trader' out front and, inside, there was a long, polished wooden bar along the right-hand wall. When we arrived around 10:00 it was fairly crowded; Ben exchanged some greetings with people he knew from his college, Loyola, and we met up with Simon and Sean, good friend's of Ben's who most of us had met before. There was a DJ playing a mix of some electronic songs as well as some more classic numbers, and two bartenders frantically pouring and serving; the one who I approached was Asian; I kicked it off with a Jagermeister shot with my roommate Brian and then ordered a White Russian and kept them coming for an hour or so. We were all drowning our drinks of choice, pausing for a shot of tequila or some such thing every now and then. I glanced over and observed my ex-girlfriend sloppily making out with a middle aged black guy who I could have sworn was a bouncer. It was around this time that I attempted to calm my stomach with a Heineken, and then continued to order both gin and vodka tonics. We were all good and drunk by now, as the clock approached midnight. The conversation was loud, girls were dancing on the bar, and as the final minutes of 2007 shed away, everyone began yelling and singing and laughing at once. Then the countdown started; I stood up on a stool and we all counted down aloud. On the TV behind the bar, the ball in Times Square dropped. I drunkenly exchanged hugs and words with my roommates, Kate and Brian, as well as my droogs, Ben, Pinks, Justin, Joe and Eric.
Champagne was passed around and all indulged. We all had a few more drinks and joked around for a while. As the clock ran down to 1:00 the crowd began to thin and friends of mine began to head for the door. I went to the coat-rack attendee, but, in my inebriatedness I was unable to find my ticket. I gave up on the brown blazer which I had purchased years before for my high school graduation party ($3.50 at Goodwill) and headed into the street to join Ben, Justin, Pinks, Joe and Eric. It is at this point that my memory becomes largely unreliable. I do remember of the walk back that our good friend Pinks was, as he can always be counted upon to be, belligerent, and was pushing Ben and Justin around, haggling them. Eric reportedly bought 4 hotdogs on the less than 20 block walk back.
We returned to the apartment afterwards, completely, 'shitty', in the parlance of our time, apparently burned a j, which I still do not remember, rounded up The Genie, and began to scrounge around for whatever food we could find. I think I made some french fries, and we had some cereal and ice cream and whatnot. After another hour or two of debauchery, it got to that point where most of us were barely conscious. People began to pass out on the floor; I think I assisted in the sleeping arrangement--there was an inflatable bed, couch cushions, pillows and blankets laid out, and about 8 people packed tight like sardines into the 'living room' of the 1 bedroom apartment. I was fortunate enough to have the bed for myself. I lay down and shut my eyes but was immediately hit with the most unbearable spins I have ever experienced. I felt the 6 or so different kinds of alcohol sloshing around in my stomach and moving quickly up into my throat. I ejected myself from the bed and quickly got to the bathroom, shut the door, and threw up violently for about 5 minutes. I could hear all of my friends laughing through the door. When I emerged Ben told me that Pinks called me a pussy and I told Pinks to go fuck himself and so on, but it was too dark and I was too gone to realize that Pinks was already passed out. I returned to the bed--I returned to the bathroom--bed--bathroom...again and again for what must have been at least 90 minutes. My jerkoff 'friends' erupted into fresh laughter with each of my miserable, defeated returns to the toilet. Finally I had gotten everything out of my stomach, dry heaved for about 10 minutes, and then returned to the bed for the last time, exhausted, slipping into the heavy, inevitable sleep that follows a night of blackout partying.
I woke up around noon with a shrieking headache and stumbled into the main room to find that Justin, Pinks, Simon and Sean had already gotten up in the early hours and left. First of all, how do you get up for a 8:00 train after a night like that, and second of all, the apartment was a shithole, with bedding, dishes and trash everywhere. As Kate, Ben, Joe an Eric slowly woke up, we laughed and reminisced about the night before. I needed something to settle my stomach. We all went down and across the street to jamba juice and I acquired a big fucking smoothie with an energy boost. Afterwards we headed back to the apartment. It was at this point that Kate left to get curry uptown with Brian. I cleaned the majority of the dishes, the couch and the bed, and Joe and Eric vacuumed the floor and threw out the trash. Finally it was done and you could never tell that anything had transpired in the previous 48 hours. I returned the key at the lobby and we headed onto the street, making for the train station. The return journey was unremarkable other than the fact that I was unable to retrieve my camera. We got off the train and into the car; we were all in a stupor from many a late night and many a substance abused, and the hour long ride passed without incident. Upon returning home we all praised the trip as an experience not soon to be forgotten. In the ensuing day friends began to depart to resume school (except for fucking Ben and Justin, who went to the Virgin Islands), a bittersweet experience as always. The final new year of our lives as students had dawned; one can only guess at how many more experiences together our fellowship has ahead of us. I eagerly await the almighty Road.
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