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12-20-02 // 12.01 am "I've got a fever, and the only prescription, is more cowbell!" NP: an SNL rerun on Comedy Central. Erin's at the movies with her friends. Her loud friends. They're good people, I like 'em a lot, but sometimes I need quiet. I suppose I've always been a rather meek person like that. But I don't like shouting, I like calm. So yes, a little while ago I wrapped Erin's Christmas presents, and put on the stereo to listen to the Blue Nile. Ah, the Blue Nile. Paul Buchanan has one of the least pretentious voices ever. It's soulful, emotional, and you sense that he means every word he says. Right now I'm sitting here on the couch with all the lights off, save for the Christmas tree. Drinking a pint of Guinness, and generally feeling relaxed and content. What else? Oh yeah. This weekend is looking to be fairly busy. Well, it's not like it's totally booked, but tomorrow night I'm meeting my grandparents for dinner, and Saturday evening is my office Christmas party. I'm sure Sunday we'll watch football at Erin's grandparents' house. At least next week I have three days off, and the two days I do go in to work won't be particularly stressful. Mmm...Guinness. It's a beautiful drink, isn't it? Reminds me of a lot of things. The bottled Extra Stout reminds me of the day of my last final spring semester my sophomore year of college. We were all drinking in Jon's room -- he accidentally broke a bottle of vodka on his bed frame, I was opening the Guinness bottles on the edge of a sink because I'd lost my bottle opener. I think once we got properly drunk, we stumbled across campus to the library and bothered Jared. The canned draught reminds me of Carney's apartment junior year. I remember going over there in the winter, sitting on the couch with Ryan H and Carney, watching TV and listening to bad music. I remember the draft of the old building, and the wall clock that they actually snagged from a classroom on campus. Actual draught in a pub Guinness reminds me of sitting in a pub in Atlanta, 19 years old and a 15 hour or so drive from home. I remember drinking pints before a concert, underage and everything. So yeah, the "black lemonade" as my good pal Dave says. I know Erin (and 99% of people I know) think it looks and tastes like sludge, but bah...what do they know? Have you seen these Coors Light commercials that have been all over TV since football season started? I dunno, with the music and actual images in the ads, it's like they're saying "Coors Light: the official beer of rednecks and date-rapist frat boys". The recent Budweiser billboard campaign here in St. Louis is almost as bad. It's slightly less slovenly, but the overall effect has led me to think up the following caption for the actually wordless ads: "Budweiser -- get women drunk". The thing is, I even like Budweiser sometimes. But I see the ads every day on my drive to and from work, and it always makes me shake my head. Blah. Thursday nights are weird. They almost feel like weekend nights, but they're not. It's a tease. You're going to have to go to work tomorrow, no matter how relaxed and generally groovy you're feeling. And with that, I'm off to chill a bit before heading to bed. Later, gators.
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