Gracious to Voiceless.
In lieu of my excellent weekend, #10 can be viewed at a later date.
FRIDAY
I was agonizingly looking at the clock on my register beggin and pleading for the minutes to pass by. Literally 2 minutes before 7:00 and the end of my shift, Mark and Aaron strolled down my lane. Mark explained that three Fishercats tickets literally fell into his lap earlier that day and that they were gonna hit up that game. And they and invited me as their third man. Hell yeah. Nothing like a spontanious trip to Manchester for Double-A baseball. So I punch out, change, and we book it to Manchester. We arrived a little late, but it was only the top of the 2nd when we showed up. The seats were excellent. 2nd row from the 3rd baseline. Can't get much better than that.
The Cats were playing Portland. And as we were seated right above the opposing team's dugout, I was in full fanatic mode. Awesomely, so were Aaron and Mark. We started yelling at the players whenever they came in or out of the dugout. Started off simply, just yelling at them "You suck!", "Go back to Maine", "Your mama...", standard operating heckling procedure. Then we started to mix it up. During one inning, this one guy came through the dugout and stood in the on-deck circle. I forget his first name (Mike or Doug or something), but his last name was Ashley, as sewn onto the back of his jersey. So I began the taunting: "Ashley? That's a GIRL'S name!". Mark and Aaron followed suit. "Aren't girls supposed to be playing softball?". "Don't break a nail swinging that bat, Ashley." We mocked him everytime he came out of the dugout to bat. The second time, we did the old Darryl Strawberry chant, yelling "Ash-ley!" over and over during his entire at bat. He ended up striking out that second time up. While he walked back, we let him have it "Nice swing, Ashley!", "I felt the wind on that one!", etc. He just kept his head down as he walked into the dugout, but we were quite sure he heard us. Fuck, I'm sure that people in the parking lot could here us. We were so loud. And we didn't let anyone get away from it. During one of the innings, their thirdbaseman made an error. As he came off the field, Mark said "E5! Where's my scorecard, I need to write down E5. That's an error. E5." (Those not baseball privy, E# is the official scoring of an error, the number stands for the position on the field [5 is third base, 6 is shortstop, 7 is left field, etc.]). I swear he looked up in digust at the stands looking for us when Mark said that.
One detail I failed to take notice until after the fact: around the 6th inning, a family had shown up and occupied the seats behind us that were empty up until that point. Mom, dad, son, daughter. Who the fuck comes to a baseball game in the 6th inning? Just exchange them for a game you can attend, doofus. But they're there, and we continue our bashery of Portland and loud cheering of New Hamsphire. The guy tapped me on the shoulder and asked us politely if we could sit down. We obliged, as we had been standing for much of the game. But we still let loose even when we're sitting. Ashley came out of the dugout to bat again, so we ripped into him some more. The game was pretty out of hand in the late innings [Final score ended up being 8-0 Portland]. But despite that, we still brought our A-game. But as the 8th inning ended, a security officer and an usher came down to us and said "I'm sorry, we have to remove you from the premicise as you are being disruptive to those around you." Aaron was pretty upset, stating that no one had asked them to stop, and had they did, we would have. And I agreed. The usher noted that the person who reported us "had to tell us on several occasions to stop". I told him again that no one had approached us to stop heckling and iterated the closest thing we had was the guy behind me telling us to please sit down. I seemingly automatically knew it was him who had turned us in seeing that he got up during the 8th inning, and the usher and security guard came within about 2 minutes of him coming back. So despite our attempts, the usher says that we have to leave. Now, Mark has had a few beers (illegally, might I add. But his 6 foot frame and goatee gives him the appearance of a college fratboy when in real life, he barely graduated high school). So I'm thinking he, or we, could get busted for that as he had 3 empty beer cups around his seat when he left. And he didn't really help that feeling in the pit of my stomach. Because as he was coming to the steps, the officer kind of nudged him in the direction of the exit. Mark decides it's a good time to be funny and witty as he quotes Monty Python and says to whoever was listening "Now we see the violence inherited in the system," and finishes by yelling as loud as he could "Help! Help! I'm being repressed!". I see the security guard reach for something on his belt--pepper spray, night stick, walkie-talkie to call for backup, I don't know. But both Aaron and I grab him and we rush out the door.
That was the first time I got kicked out of any public event. And it sure as hell won't be the last. We got kicked out, but I'm pretty sure we weren't banned. We're already talking about a return trip this summer.
SATURDAY
Had a brutal night's sleep. The fact I had to wake up at 4:30 didn't help either. And when I woke up, my throat was destroyed. All that yelling and cheering from the Cats' game really took a toll on my larynx. My throat was super sore and I barely had any voice at all. Couldn't have happened at a worse day either as I had a jam-filled day ahead of me.
I had to help my sister pack up and ship out. Brought her down to Manchester to the airport to catch her flight to Florida. Since she graduated from KSC, there was no point in her staying up here, she thought. So she took the step to move down to the Sunshine State, take in a room in my dad's place until she finds a job. Good place to find a job, might I add. She graduated with a BA in Graphic Arts. And what with the whole Disney franchise stationed there as well as thousands of companies and advertising corporations who look to advertise, she should be able to find one right quick. But her moving to Florida leaves me the last one up here. And don't think I'm going to be moving there any time soon. Florida is an awesome place to visit and vacation. But I know I would not like living there. If I move anywhere within the next year or two (as my plan is), it'd probably be to Connecticut. First things first, I still need to secure a place here before any of that considering the lease on this is up in 2 weeks. Anyway, back on topic. Naturally, my mom was pretty misty eyed. But she seems to be alright now.
After I got back to the house, I grabbed some quick things and made my way up to Littleton. I got dressed up and everything, which is something I notably detest (although it's been mentioned that I look quite spiffy when I do). For it was graduation, you see. Which means that now all my good friends are out of high school. And this year's graduation had the most people I cared about than any I've attended, that including mine as well. I had about 3 or 4 friends from my class, 2 from '05, and the rest from this year. So it was a spectacle I wouldn't ever miss [So imagine how much joy I had in telling Target to fuck off when they called looking for someone to come in].
I arrive in L-Town. First thing I notice that differed from my absence was they knocked down the old Clam Shell building and began construction on a new Walgreens. Glad I moved. The last thing Littleton needs is another fucking pharmacy. The town ain't that big--only a population of about 3,000.--and I can name you 10 different pharmacies in town. Walgreens will make 11. Anyway, I stop into Cumby's to grab a bag of cough drops before getting up to the school. As expected, the place was uberjammed. I had to park in the church parking lot and walk. When I walked through the door, I saw Dan and Tuity. We recanted about old times, a couple "we should really do something this summer"s, and then when questioned why I sounded so hoarse, spoke of the tale at the Fishercats game. I found Bopha's brother who was holding a ticket for me (as graduation was dumbly inside despite it being a picturesque day to have it outside). I went into the gym to attempt finding a seat. I was successful when I spotted Holly across the way. We sat together and watched the commencement. The grads walked into the sounds of Skynyrd's "Free Bird". I couldn't help but comment how uber-cliche of a song they picked. "Free Bird" has to be the most used graduation song ever. Couldn't think of anything better? Just once, I want to be at a graduation where the students walk into "Another Brick in the Wall". "We don't need no education" indeed!
ANYWAY. To be perfectly frank, it was one of the most boring graduations I've been to. And I blame that on the guest speaker. This year, the New Hampshire Senator John Sununu was the guest speaker. And every time I go to a graduation, I try to take something away from the speeches. His speech was so god awful, I picked up nothing. It's like he was either trying too hard or not hard enough. I couldn't help but think that he was just approaching it like a debate as I heard a number of self plugs in his speech. And it went on entirely too long. And the audience knew it. Working on his 20th minute, he took a pause. And I think everyone was awaiting his outro. But he continued onto another story. Their was a collective groan from the audience. But he was off another minute or two later. The superintendent was next, but her speech was nice and short. Mr. Smith followed suit, and his was better than the other two. I often wonder how he can write different speeches every year. But I came to the conclusion that he has 4 of them and will just rotate them every year. But he made some good sense in his speech, and he also quoted Led Zeppelin which is an automatic thumbs up. After some lackluster, cliche valedictorian and salutitorian speeches, the highschool band did their last piece, which I remembered note for note. They played a piece called "To Challenge the Sky", which I had performed about 4 times in my times between 8th and 12th grade. I knew how to play the song on 3 different instruments. But after the performance, they started handing out the diplomas. And after (one of the worst performed) "Pomp and Circumstance", Holly and I ran for the door to mingle with the grads on the vocational lawn. After a couple photo ops and some hugs & handpounds, I made my retreat.
First stop after the fact was to Wal*Mart. Step 1: Change. And you never realize how skeevy it is changing in a Wal Mart bathroom until you do it. Also something I've noticed, and I fully blame it on working at Target and seeing it everyday. Wal*Mart is fucking filthy. And cramped. The aisles are so jarred close to one another. Also noted was that a large portion of the Wal*Mart crowd were hicks or retards. I almost refuse to believe I worked for that place. But after I changed, I grabbed a pack of cards, a sharpie, and some candy. As I was leaving, some charity asshole asks me "Would you like to donate 1 dollar to help keep kids off drugs?". Without missing I beat, I put on my sunglasses and say "No, drugs kick ass." He gave me this sneer and left me alone. But for the kids out there reading, drugs don't kick ass. I just said that to be a douchebag to him.
Anyway, after Wally's was the first party stop, which was Christine's. Didn't stay there long. Her relatives had just finished cooking up some grill quality burgers, which I partook in while enjoying the company of Chris (B.) and Matt (H.). Austin and Chelsea also showed up. I made my leave to stop over at Bopha's. Stayed there only a short amount of time as they were all leaving to head up to Cassie's, which was my next stop anyway. Cassie's was the most entertaining. All her relatives were there, which itself would be entertaining come the evening. But as I showed up, I made myself at home as she and her boyfriend faced two of her relatives in a basketball game in the driveway. After grabbing some food on the porch, I talked it up with Jason and Woody. We then started playing a trio of HORSE games. Woody won all 3 times, though I had some funky shots go down, including my signature Lay-down-on-the-sidwalk. I attempted a reverse one and came close to making it, but it never went down. Mike and Danielle arrived shortly after. And they showed up in style, riding an awesome new motorcycle. Ben, Josh, and Bope also joined the box social afterward. Someone began mentioning the absence of music despite the number of musicians there (me not included as I did not know this person). So David brought his awesome jazz guitar, microbass, a couple amps, and the only percussion he had: a high hat and snare drum. But he worked the 6-string, Ryan grabbed the microbass, and Austin teetered on the half-set. I didn't take part because I thought I'd only embarass myself had I participated. They played some old jazz classics mostly as that's what David plays the best and most of. Ryan and Austin were on suit, maybe not particularly knowing what to play, but making it sound like they sure did. And I must say that Austin really has grown as a drummer. I seemingly recall during senior year he would hop on the set after we dispersed for band and played one beat. Several of us had to tell him to learn something else or stop playing. But he's gotten a lot better. Probably better than me even. He did a good job making the makeshift two-piece set sound full. They played for over an hour, really adding to the awesome atmospher of the party. Jason, Laura, Cassie, and I went inside to play a round of Taboo, always a favorite. It was hard to play for me considering my lack of voice, but JJ and I still kicked ass. Afterward, we all paraded upstairs to play Scene It. Ben and Josh had since joined us. I decided not to play because my throat was hurting after Taboo, settling on strumming Cassie's acoustic while the others played. They're lucky I didn't play too because I knew nearly every question they threw up there. When we came back outside, we were in for an entertaining spectacle. Nearly everyone there was smashed except for us. It's always funny to watch a group of drunkards. Even funnier to watch a dog drink nearly an entire Sombrero out of a red cup and stumble around.
It began to grow dark. Pete, Laura, and I took a trip up to Ryan's for the rest of the night. Most of the night was comprised of Ryan showing off his new laptop and watching a bunch of concert clips he had. We sat around for the next couple hours and just talked about women, work, college, life. It was good. Just like old times. They did most of the talking, I just sat on the couch and played Ryan's acoustic bass and chimed in whenever I agreed. A good hour was dedicated to our respective stories about how horrible working in the hospital kitchen was, a job which all 3 of us had. Only Ryan still works there, and he had the worst stories of us three. We put in Team America at around 1:30. Right around the time Hans Blix gets devoured by Kim Jeong Il's shark, I succombed to the effects of only working on 2 hours of sleep and passed out. I woke up right near the end of the movie and noticed I was covered in Hershey Kisses. Apparently they were hucking candy at me as I slept as I was disrupting the movie. The only time I ever snore is when I'm sleep deprived, which I was. The movie finished up. Ryan essentially kicked Pete out, as I know Pete was anticipating going around the horn. Since there was no way I was driving home, I crashed on his couch until 11:30.
SUNDAY
The least awesome day of the weekend. In fact, today actually was a pretty mundane day. When I got up, Ryan was still asleep upstairs, as he said he would be. So I wandered about to wake up. It was a really humid and sticky outside. I really wanted to call some people and do some more hanging out before I left. But my voice situation had actually gotten progressively worse overnight which shouldn't have happened (which leads me to believe there's something more foul afoot, but more on that below). And I couldn't really talk much at all. So what good would calling anyone do? So I reluctantly drove home. The drive sucked as it was the last day of Motorcycle Week and seemingly EVERYONE who owned a motorcycle just decided to take it out on 93 south at that exact time. And they were driving slow as shit.
I got home where it was sticky and humid inside my house. I grabbed a shower and ended up cleaning my car out about an hour later. It's amazing the stuff you can find when you don't clean your car out for an entire year. I came in and smacked my face right into the closet door that was mysteriously opened. My nose started bleeding profusely. Blood got everywhere in my hallway and bathroom. So much so that it looked like I got fucking murdered there. It took a whole roll of toilet paper before the bleeding decided to stop, or at least stop flowing like a river. I took another shower and changed seeing as my skin and clothes were also pretty bloody.
That was essentially the highlight of my evening. And now, some photos:
Bopha and I.
Rockin' with JP. Eyes closed. Natch.
David, Ryan, and Austin pumping it (Louder!)
Mike (and Danielle) with his awesome ride.
Group shot: Cassie, Jason, Laura, and guess who?
And these photos not from graduation, but from last band practice (more like band fuck around for 3 hours and get down to business for 1 time) at Erik's:
First band photo. Sans singer.
Ah, there he is. (Blurry. Deal.)
Al gets thrown in the lake.
Splash.
It's been two days and my throat hasn't been getting better since the incident. I've screamed my lungs out at sports events before, but usually got it back after a day if not earlier. What I'm thinking is that something foul is afoot in my esophagus. Last Wednesday, I developed a little head cold complete with some coughing and sniffles. But that was the extent. I thought I had beaten it by Friday. But I guess not as I'm still coughing up mucus. Could it be possible that this sickness is slowing the healing process of my throat? Or maybe my fanatacism only added to the problem in a way that the sickness was already going to go? Or did I give myself full blown laryngitis? I don't know. All I know is I've tried everything to get my voice back. Hot drinks. Cold drinks. Gargling. Cough drops. Cold medicine. Punching myself in the neck. And I'm still hoarser than that freaky talking guy on Star Wars. If I sound this bad come tomorrow, I'll be unable to do my job. And I have no real problem with another day off. But the whole not getting paid thing is kind of a red flag, especially considering I need an apartment by the end of the month.
FRIDAY
I was agonizingly looking at the clock on my register beggin and pleading for the minutes to pass by. Literally 2 minutes before 7:00 and the end of my shift, Mark and Aaron strolled down my lane. Mark explained that three Fishercats tickets literally fell into his lap earlier that day and that they were gonna hit up that game. And they and invited me as their third man. Hell yeah. Nothing like a spontanious trip to Manchester for Double-A baseball. So I punch out, change, and we book it to Manchester. We arrived a little late, but it was only the top of the 2nd when we showed up. The seats were excellent. 2nd row from the 3rd baseline. Can't get much better than that.
The Cats were playing Portland. And as we were seated right above the opposing team's dugout, I was in full fanatic mode. Awesomely, so were Aaron and Mark. We started yelling at the players whenever they came in or out of the dugout. Started off simply, just yelling at them "You suck!", "Go back to Maine", "Your mama...", standard operating heckling procedure. Then we started to mix it up. During one inning, this one guy came through the dugout and stood in the on-deck circle. I forget his first name (Mike or Doug or something), but his last name was Ashley, as sewn onto the back of his jersey. So I began the taunting: "Ashley? That's a GIRL'S name!". Mark and Aaron followed suit. "Aren't girls supposed to be playing softball?". "Don't break a nail swinging that bat, Ashley." We mocked him everytime he came out of the dugout to bat. The second time, we did the old Darryl Strawberry chant, yelling "Ash-ley!" over and over during his entire at bat. He ended up striking out that second time up. While he walked back, we let him have it "Nice swing, Ashley!", "I felt the wind on that one!", etc. He just kept his head down as he walked into the dugout, but we were quite sure he heard us. Fuck, I'm sure that people in the parking lot could here us. We were so loud. And we didn't let anyone get away from it. During one of the innings, their thirdbaseman made an error. As he came off the field, Mark said "E5! Where's my scorecard, I need to write down E5. That's an error. E5." (Those not baseball privy, E# is the official scoring of an error, the number stands for the position on the field [5 is third base, 6 is shortstop, 7 is left field, etc.]). I swear he looked up in digust at the stands looking for us when Mark said that.
One detail I failed to take notice until after the fact: around the 6th inning, a family had shown up and occupied the seats behind us that were empty up until that point. Mom, dad, son, daughter. Who the fuck comes to a baseball game in the 6th inning? Just exchange them for a game you can attend, doofus. But they're there, and we continue our bashery of Portland and loud cheering of New Hamsphire. The guy tapped me on the shoulder and asked us politely if we could sit down. We obliged, as we had been standing for much of the game. But we still let loose even when we're sitting. Ashley came out of the dugout to bat again, so we ripped into him some more. The game was pretty out of hand in the late innings [Final score ended up being 8-0 Portland]. But despite that, we still brought our A-game. But as the 8th inning ended, a security officer and an usher came down to us and said "I'm sorry, we have to remove you from the premicise as you are being disruptive to those around you." Aaron was pretty upset, stating that no one had asked them to stop, and had they did, we would have. And I agreed. The usher noted that the person who reported us "had to tell us on several occasions to stop". I told him again that no one had approached us to stop heckling and iterated the closest thing we had was the guy behind me telling us to please sit down. I seemingly automatically knew it was him who had turned us in seeing that he got up during the 8th inning, and the usher and security guard came within about 2 minutes of him coming back. So despite our attempts, the usher says that we have to leave. Now, Mark has had a few beers (illegally, might I add. But his 6 foot frame and goatee gives him the appearance of a college fratboy when in real life, he barely graduated high school). So I'm thinking he, or we, could get busted for that as he had 3 empty beer cups around his seat when he left. And he didn't really help that feeling in the pit of my stomach. Because as he was coming to the steps, the officer kind of nudged him in the direction of the exit. Mark decides it's a good time to be funny and witty as he quotes Monty Python and says to whoever was listening "Now we see the violence inherited in the system," and finishes by yelling as loud as he could "Help! Help! I'm being repressed!". I see the security guard reach for something on his belt--pepper spray, night stick, walkie-talkie to call for backup, I don't know. But both Aaron and I grab him and we rush out the door.
That was the first time I got kicked out of any public event. And it sure as hell won't be the last. We got kicked out, but I'm pretty sure we weren't banned. We're already talking about a return trip this summer.
SATURDAY
Had a brutal night's sleep. The fact I had to wake up at 4:30 didn't help either. And when I woke up, my throat was destroyed. All that yelling and cheering from the Cats' game really took a toll on my larynx. My throat was super sore and I barely had any voice at all. Couldn't have happened at a worse day either as I had a jam-filled day ahead of me.
I had to help my sister pack up and ship out. Brought her down to Manchester to the airport to catch her flight to Florida. Since she graduated from KSC, there was no point in her staying up here, she thought. So she took the step to move down to the Sunshine State, take in a room in my dad's place until she finds a job. Good place to find a job, might I add. She graduated with a BA in Graphic Arts. And what with the whole Disney franchise stationed there as well as thousands of companies and advertising corporations who look to advertise, she should be able to find one right quick. But her moving to Florida leaves me the last one up here. And don't think I'm going to be moving there any time soon. Florida is an awesome place to visit and vacation. But I know I would not like living there. If I move anywhere within the next year or two (as my plan is), it'd probably be to Connecticut. First things first, I still need to secure a place here before any of that considering the lease on this is up in 2 weeks. Anyway, back on topic. Naturally, my mom was pretty misty eyed. But she seems to be alright now.
After I got back to the house, I grabbed some quick things and made my way up to Littleton. I got dressed up and everything, which is something I notably detest (although it's been mentioned that I look quite spiffy when I do). For it was graduation, you see. Which means that now all my good friends are out of high school. And this year's graduation had the most people I cared about than any I've attended, that including mine as well. I had about 3 or 4 friends from my class, 2 from '05, and the rest from this year. So it was a spectacle I wouldn't ever miss [So imagine how much joy I had in telling Target to fuck off when they called looking for someone to come in].
I arrive in L-Town. First thing I notice that differed from my absence was they knocked down the old Clam Shell building and began construction on a new Walgreens. Glad I moved. The last thing Littleton needs is another fucking pharmacy. The town ain't that big--only a population of about 3,000.--and I can name you 10 different pharmacies in town. Walgreens will make 11. Anyway, I stop into Cumby's to grab a bag of cough drops before getting up to the school. As expected, the place was uberjammed. I had to park in the church parking lot and walk. When I walked through the door, I saw Dan and Tuity. We recanted about old times, a couple "we should really do something this summer"s, and then when questioned why I sounded so hoarse, spoke of the tale at the Fishercats game. I found Bopha's brother who was holding a ticket for me (as graduation was dumbly inside despite it being a picturesque day to have it outside). I went into the gym to attempt finding a seat. I was successful when I spotted Holly across the way. We sat together and watched the commencement. The grads walked into the sounds of Skynyrd's "Free Bird". I couldn't help but comment how uber-cliche of a song they picked. "Free Bird" has to be the most used graduation song ever. Couldn't think of anything better? Just once, I want to be at a graduation where the students walk into "Another Brick in the Wall". "We don't need no education" indeed!
ANYWAY. To be perfectly frank, it was one of the most boring graduations I've been to. And I blame that on the guest speaker. This year, the New Hampshire Senator John Sununu was the guest speaker. And every time I go to a graduation, I try to take something away from the speeches. His speech was so god awful, I picked up nothing. It's like he was either trying too hard or not hard enough. I couldn't help but think that he was just approaching it like a debate as I heard a number of self plugs in his speech. And it went on entirely too long. And the audience knew it. Working on his 20th minute, he took a pause. And I think everyone was awaiting his outro. But he continued onto another story. Their was a collective groan from the audience. But he was off another minute or two later. The superintendent was next, but her speech was nice and short. Mr. Smith followed suit, and his was better than the other two. I often wonder how he can write different speeches every year. But I came to the conclusion that he has 4 of them and will just rotate them every year. But he made some good sense in his speech, and he also quoted Led Zeppelin which is an automatic thumbs up. After some lackluster, cliche valedictorian and salutitorian speeches, the highschool band did their last piece, which I remembered note for note. They played a piece called "To Challenge the Sky", which I had performed about 4 times in my times between 8th and 12th grade. I knew how to play the song on 3 different instruments. But after the performance, they started handing out the diplomas. And after (one of the worst performed) "Pomp and Circumstance", Holly and I ran for the door to mingle with the grads on the vocational lawn. After a couple photo ops and some hugs & handpounds, I made my retreat.
First stop after the fact was to Wal*Mart. Step 1: Change. And you never realize how skeevy it is changing in a Wal Mart bathroom until you do it. Also something I've noticed, and I fully blame it on working at Target and seeing it everyday. Wal*Mart is fucking filthy. And cramped. The aisles are so jarred close to one another. Also noted was that a large portion of the Wal*Mart crowd were hicks or retards. I almost refuse to believe I worked for that place. But after I changed, I grabbed a pack of cards, a sharpie, and some candy. As I was leaving, some charity asshole asks me "Would you like to donate 1 dollar to help keep kids off drugs?". Without missing I beat, I put on my sunglasses and say "No, drugs kick ass." He gave me this sneer and left me alone. But for the kids out there reading, drugs don't kick ass. I just said that to be a douchebag to him.
Anyway, after Wally's was the first party stop, which was Christine's. Didn't stay there long. Her relatives had just finished cooking up some grill quality burgers, which I partook in while enjoying the company of Chris (B.) and Matt (H.). Austin and Chelsea also showed up. I made my leave to stop over at Bopha's. Stayed there only a short amount of time as they were all leaving to head up to Cassie's, which was my next stop anyway. Cassie's was the most entertaining. All her relatives were there, which itself would be entertaining come the evening. But as I showed up, I made myself at home as she and her boyfriend faced two of her relatives in a basketball game in the driveway. After grabbing some food on the porch, I talked it up with Jason and Woody. We then started playing a trio of HORSE games. Woody won all 3 times, though I had some funky shots go down, including my signature Lay-down-on-the-sidwalk. I attempted a reverse one and came close to making it, but it never went down. Mike and Danielle arrived shortly after. And they showed up in style, riding an awesome new motorcycle. Ben, Josh, and Bope also joined the box social afterward. Someone began mentioning the absence of music despite the number of musicians there (me not included as I did not know this person). So David brought his awesome jazz guitar, microbass, a couple amps, and the only percussion he had: a high hat and snare drum. But he worked the 6-string, Ryan grabbed the microbass, and Austin teetered on the half-set. I didn't take part because I thought I'd only embarass myself had I participated. They played some old jazz classics mostly as that's what David plays the best and most of. Ryan and Austin were on suit, maybe not particularly knowing what to play, but making it sound like they sure did. And I must say that Austin really has grown as a drummer. I seemingly recall during senior year he would hop on the set after we dispersed for band and played one beat. Several of us had to tell him to learn something else or stop playing. But he's gotten a lot better. Probably better than me even. He did a good job making the makeshift two-piece set sound full. They played for over an hour, really adding to the awesome atmospher of the party. Jason, Laura, Cassie, and I went inside to play a round of Taboo, always a favorite. It was hard to play for me considering my lack of voice, but JJ and I still kicked ass. Afterward, we all paraded upstairs to play Scene It. Ben and Josh had since joined us. I decided not to play because my throat was hurting after Taboo, settling on strumming Cassie's acoustic while the others played. They're lucky I didn't play too because I knew nearly every question they threw up there. When we came back outside, we were in for an entertaining spectacle. Nearly everyone there was smashed except for us. It's always funny to watch a group of drunkards. Even funnier to watch a dog drink nearly an entire Sombrero out of a red cup and stumble around.
It began to grow dark. Pete, Laura, and I took a trip up to Ryan's for the rest of the night. Most of the night was comprised of Ryan showing off his new laptop and watching a bunch of concert clips he had. We sat around for the next couple hours and just talked about women, work, college, life. It was good. Just like old times. They did most of the talking, I just sat on the couch and played Ryan's acoustic bass and chimed in whenever I agreed. A good hour was dedicated to our respective stories about how horrible working in the hospital kitchen was, a job which all 3 of us had. Only Ryan still works there, and he had the worst stories of us three. We put in Team America at around 1:30. Right around the time Hans Blix gets devoured by Kim Jeong Il's shark, I succombed to the effects of only working on 2 hours of sleep and passed out. I woke up right near the end of the movie and noticed I was covered in Hershey Kisses. Apparently they were hucking candy at me as I slept as I was disrupting the movie. The only time I ever snore is when I'm sleep deprived, which I was. The movie finished up. Ryan essentially kicked Pete out, as I know Pete was anticipating going around the horn. Since there was no way I was driving home, I crashed on his couch until 11:30.
SUNDAY
The least awesome day of the weekend. In fact, today actually was a pretty mundane day. When I got up, Ryan was still asleep upstairs, as he said he would be. So I wandered about to wake up. It was a really humid and sticky outside. I really wanted to call some people and do some more hanging out before I left. But my voice situation had actually gotten progressively worse overnight which shouldn't have happened (which leads me to believe there's something more foul afoot, but more on that below). And I couldn't really talk much at all. So what good would calling anyone do? So I reluctantly drove home. The drive sucked as it was the last day of Motorcycle Week and seemingly EVERYONE who owned a motorcycle just decided to take it out on 93 south at that exact time. And they were driving slow as shit.
I got home where it was sticky and humid inside my house. I grabbed a shower and ended up cleaning my car out about an hour later. It's amazing the stuff you can find when you don't clean your car out for an entire year. I came in and smacked my face right into the closet door that was mysteriously opened. My nose started bleeding profusely. Blood got everywhere in my hallway and bathroom. So much so that it looked like I got fucking murdered there. It took a whole roll of toilet paper before the bleeding decided to stop, or at least stop flowing like a river. I took another shower and changed seeing as my skin and clothes were also pretty bloody.
That was essentially the highlight of my evening. And now, some photos:
Bopha and I.
Rockin' with JP. Eyes closed. Natch.
David, Ryan, and Austin pumping it (Louder!)
Mike (and Danielle) with his awesome ride.
Group shot: Cassie, Jason, Laura, and guess who?
And these photos not from graduation, but from last band practice (more like band fuck around for 3 hours and get down to business for 1 time) at Erik's:
First band photo. Sans singer.
Ah, there he is. (Blurry. Deal.)
Al gets thrown in the lake.
Splash.
It's been two days and my throat hasn't been getting better since the incident. I've screamed my lungs out at sports events before, but usually got it back after a day if not earlier. What I'm thinking is that something foul is afoot in my esophagus. Last Wednesday, I developed a little head cold complete with some coughing and sniffles. But that was the extent. I thought I had beaten it by Friday. But I guess not as I'm still coughing up mucus. Could it be possible that this sickness is slowing the healing process of my throat? Or maybe my fanatacism only added to the problem in a way that the sickness was already going to go? Or did I give myself full blown laryngitis? I don't know. All I know is I've tried everything to get my voice back. Hot drinks. Cold drinks. Gargling. Cough drops. Cold medicine. Punching myself in the neck. And I'm still hoarser than that freaky talking guy on Star Wars. If I sound this bad come tomorrow, I'll be unable to do my job. And I have no real problem with another day off. But the whole not getting paid thing is kind of a red flag, especially considering I need an apartment by the end of the month.