It Must Be Friday For Me To Feel This Bad

One of those old rat-pack crooners, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin or maybe Shirley McClain, once said that they feel sorry for anyone that doesn't wake up with a hangover because that's the best they can expect to feel all day. I can't think of a clever way to tie that into this post but those are words I like to think about on hungover mornings such as this one.

As if the throbbing headache, physical and mental exhaustion weren't reason enough to stay in bed this morning, I should have instantly returned there when I switched on the teli and was greeted by this dire prediction.

Of course, I didn't bother to turn up the volume or even keep that channel on because I figured, if we really were on the eve of Armageddon they probably wouldn't have the
weather lady covering the story.

There are a lot of people I have to thank for today's hangover, starting with the inventors of vodka. Only a gifted genius could figure out how to get drunk off a potato. Next, the brewers of that beer I was drinking after responsibly deciding that I had had enough vodka. I still don't remember your name beer but it had something to do with a tiger. Of course none of the drinks would have been served (except for the ones I had at home before and after going out) without the help of the ridiculously unpleasant lady tending bar at Barcade last night. Lighten up sweetie, you'll never catch a man with that sour puss. Many thanks go out to Adam, Kelly, Cyndi and Seth. Guys, if it weren't for you I would have been drinking alone.* And finally, my deepest thanks to Seth's mom. If she hadn't given birth to baby Seth on April 18th, none of us would have had such a great excuse for getting drunk on a Wednesday.

In parting, I'd like to accept this hangover on behalf of the Gowanus whale. Your camporing and cavorting won New York's hart but ultimately, New York's shit would stop yours from beating.

Gowanus whale, April 17 - April 19, 2007. R.I.P.



*Not that there is anything wrong with drinking alone.