Did he just go crazy and fall asleep?
So, as you’re probably aware, Friday was my birthday--and not just any birthday, but my “golden birthday,” as I turned 25 on the 25th. My mom sent me a cute e-card and an email lovingly reminding me that I am a quarter of a century old. Thanks mom!
Friday was a normal day of work, but Friday night was a company office party at a hotel up in Bellevue. A bunch of us carpooled up with our respective guests (later than intended, but still in time for food) and had a really good time. The food was good (roast turkey with walnut gravy was the highlight for me), the drinks were free, and there really are a lot of cool people at that company. astridsdream can tell you a little more about it in this post.
At one point, after I’d exhausted my free drink tickets on others, I walked up to one of the bars in the venue and asked for water. My initial warning sign was that the first thing he put in the glass was brown and alcoholic-looking. Um… Before I could say anything, he cracked a bottle of soda water, poured it in, announced that this was a “club soda,” and asked for eight dollars. I told him I didn’t have eight dollars (true) and that I would come back with such (false). I left the “water” there. WATER. Seriously. This is not hard! One of the other bartenders was happy to give me, you know, some actual ice water, the kind without booze in it.
I awoke Saturday a little dehydrated but excited about my birthday party that night. I drank plenty of water and arrived at the Celtic Swell in West Seattle well hydrated, surrounded by friends, and ready to get sozzled while listening to live Irish music.
We were there to hear someone named Mingus O’Bannon, which gave me great faith in his essential Irishness. On the way, someone in the car (99% sure it was Dave) was sufficiently amused at his name to hatch the plan of shouting “Oy! Mingus!” at him, of which more anon.
The pub was nice, and the location was great. There’s a miniature Statue of Liberty across the street, and past that you can, as the pub’s web site promised, see the ferries coming in and out. Mingus, however, was nowhere in evidence, and after a while I ascertained that the web site and the pub staff disagreed on the subject of start time. Ah, well. I was planning to be there a while anyway.
I started the evening off right with what seemed like about a pound of fine Irish stew, followed not long after by a large plate of seasoned fries. I was ravenous, and for some reason salt-starved. Noah and Brianna also gave me homemade espresso marshmallows, which were delicious.
Meanwhile, of course, everyone was eager to buy me drinks. I drank a LOT more than last year; at that point I was still fresh off my insane karaoke night in Kobe and not eager to come anywhere close to that. This year I drank probably a little more than is strictly advisable, but not so much that I actually regretted it. Actually, a very good spot for a birthday party to fall.
I consumed, in order, with commentary:
-A cider, courtesy of Dave, that said right on the bottle that it was “Irish Cider,” which I guess means it’s made out of potatoes. (Zing!) Quite delicious; a great starter and an awesome complement to the fries.
-An Irish coffee, courtesy of Noah, in emulation of . This was, as Dave tried to tell me, a mistake. I’d always pictured something sweet and creamy; the reality is that Irish coffee offsets the bitterness of coffee with the bitterness of hard liquor. I was not yet drunk enough to handle this. Fortunately, there was…
-An “orgasm,” on Dave’s suggestion, to “chase” the Irish coffee with something sickeningly sweet. (An orgasm, according to the Internet, is made of equal parts amaretto, Kahlua, and Bailey’s. Man, I have been doing it wrong.) Dave’s plan worked perfectly, and of course chasing alcohol with alcohol is never bad! Er, right?
-I believe this is where the double shot of Goldschlager came in. Nik wanted to buy me a shot of birthday Jägermeister, but Rebecca suggested Goldschlager for my golden birthday instead. For this, of course, she deserves nigh-endless accolades. The Goldschlager, I think, will become part of the tradition, even if it is no longer thematically appropriate. Many of the partygoers joined me for a shot, and Mingus, who by this point I’d befriended, cheered us on from the stage. Damn is that stuff delicious. To quote mad_willy, drinking a shot of Goldschlager is like “taking a gold brick, rolling it in cinnamon, heating it until it's red-hot, then dropping it into a bucket of dry ice and having someone hit you in the face with it. That is to say: Awesome.” As Eddie Izzard would say, this is all true.
-There was another most-of-a-double-shot of Goldschlager for me, because Andrea barely touched hers and I grabbed it. Did I mention that stuff is delicious?
-At this point there was a Fuzzy Navel, because Dave had recommended it the night before but we’d failed to procure one. I think. There may also have been more fries. Speaking of fuzzy…
-A coffee with Bailey’s courtesy of Nik, after Dave pointed out that it’s a vastly superior coffee-based Irish-themed alcoholic beverage. It was exactly what the Irish coffee wasn’t. I was, at this point, stupendously, joyously drunk.
-For the final drink of the evening, the coup de grace you might say, my lovely girlfriend insisted on buying me a Chartreuse with a Sprite chaser, complete with detailed instructions regarding in- and exhalation (I believe to keep from bursting into flames), as had once been done for her. It’s like gin crossed with a Bengal tiger; as I seem to recall saying at the time, “It tastes like a very blurry tree.”
Ahh, but that’s just the drink list. Meanwhile, starting somewhere before the Goldschlager, we enjoyed one another’s company and the Irish folk stylings of Mingus O’Bannon. Mingus was a stout Irish fellow who looked like a lumberjack. His repertoire was traditional Irish folk, covers of stuff by the Pogues and others, and a tiny smattering of originals. He had no backup band; just him and a guitar.
At some point, Dave and Nik favored him with a hearty “OY MINGUS!” after one of the songs, and our whole table cheered. He just about jumped off the stage in surprise, but then he smiled and kicked up his performance a notch.
I went up and talked to him when I was a few drinks advanced and explained that I was there for my birthday and these were my friends. He wished me a happy birthday, and he and I talked about what sort of music he plays, what bands he’s familiar with, and where he’s played. I asked him if he knew “Seven Drunken Nights,” and indeed he did. He played it for me as a birthday request. A sample verse and chorus:
I came home on a Monday night… as drunk as drunk can be!
I saw a coat beside the door, where my own coat should be…
I called my wife and I said to her, “Would you kindly tell to me
who owns that coat beside the door where my coat should be?”
She said “You’re drunk, you’re drunk, you silly old fool, and now you cannot see!
That’s the lovely blanket that me mother gave to me.”
Well, it’s many a day I’ve traveled a hundred miles or more
but buttons on a blanket, well, I never saw before.
…It goes on like this, with increasing signs that the fellow has been cuckolded… quite funny, and Mingus knew an ending verse I’d never heard before that was delightfully lewd. He later sang “Happy Birthday” to me and somebody else who was there for her birthday. I believe the bit about me involved me being very drunk, which, of course, I was.
Toward the end of the evening, Nik, Dave, and I applauded a particularly good song with another, even heartier, “OY MINGUS!” This time he was ready for it and accepted it graciously. He caught Laura as the others were pouring me out the door and gave her a CD to give to me. He’s a good guy and a good musician; I’ll go out of my way to see him again, for sure.
My thanks to everyone who came and made this an awesome, fun-filled birthday celebration. It’s always a joy to watch my disparate social circles intermix, and I was not disappointed. There was lots of good conversation, friendly banter, and general fun-as-hellness. Thank you especially to Will for the book, which was in a lamp box but marked “not a lamp” (and also for returning my pants), and to everyone who bought me food and drinks, particularly Dave (who, unless I’ve done the math wrong, contributed at least a simple majority to my blood alcohol level that night). This was a really fantastic way to ring in the last good birthday til retirement. (Whooo, I can rent cars!)
Following a nasty 4 a.m. wake-up of the “need bread and water or I’ll hurl and possibly die” variety, I got myself feeling better, slept some more, and spent Sunday and Monday (my "birthday holiday"), basically, recovering and relaxing. There was some Magic and a little bit of cleaning. My dining room table is no longer covered in Magic cards; it is now half-covered in Magic cards that are organized into piles. Man, I thought a house with one Magic player was bad, but since Laura started playing there’ve been cards everywhere (we keep ‘em all at my place, on the grounds that I own a table).
A very good weekend on the whole. Crazy where it needed to be crazy and relaxed where it needed to be relaxed. Not quite as productive as I'd like, but hey, it was my birthday!
I’m still working on the Serenity session script. Almost finished!
…Man, I sit down, words come out. I have got to do this more often.
Quote of the day: (other than “It tastes like a very blurry tree.”)
“A healthy pregnancy begins in the bread aisle.”
--the cheery recording they play at Fred Meyer, who apparently has never taken a health class
Friday was a normal day of work, but Friday night was a company office party at a hotel up in Bellevue. A bunch of us carpooled up with our respective guests (later than intended, but still in time for food) and had a really good time. The food was good (roast turkey with walnut gravy was the highlight for me), the drinks were free, and there really are a lot of cool people at that company. astridsdream can tell you a little more about it in this post.
At one point, after I’d exhausted my free drink tickets on others, I walked up to one of the bars in the venue and asked for water. My initial warning sign was that the first thing he put in the glass was brown and alcoholic-looking. Um… Before I could say anything, he cracked a bottle of soda water, poured it in, announced that this was a “club soda,” and asked for eight dollars. I told him I didn’t have eight dollars (true) and that I would come back with such (false). I left the “water” there. WATER. Seriously. This is not hard! One of the other bartenders was happy to give me, you know, some actual ice water, the kind without booze in it.
I awoke Saturday a little dehydrated but excited about my birthday party that night. I drank plenty of water and arrived at the Celtic Swell in West Seattle well hydrated, surrounded by friends, and ready to get sozzled while listening to live Irish music.
We were there to hear someone named Mingus O’Bannon, which gave me great faith in his essential Irishness. On the way, someone in the car (99% sure it was Dave) was sufficiently amused at his name to hatch the plan of shouting “Oy! Mingus!” at him, of which more anon.
The pub was nice, and the location was great. There’s a miniature Statue of Liberty across the street, and past that you can, as the pub’s web site promised, see the ferries coming in and out. Mingus, however, was nowhere in evidence, and after a while I ascertained that the web site and the pub staff disagreed on the subject of start time. Ah, well. I was planning to be there a while anyway.
I started the evening off right with what seemed like about a pound of fine Irish stew, followed not long after by a large plate of seasoned fries. I was ravenous, and for some reason salt-starved. Noah and Brianna also gave me homemade espresso marshmallows, which were delicious.
Meanwhile, of course, everyone was eager to buy me drinks. I drank a LOT more than last year; at that point I was still fresh off my insane karaoke night in Kobe and not eager to come anywhere close to that. This year I drank probably a little more than is strictly advisable, but not so much that I actually regretted it. Actually, a very good spot for a birthday party to fall.
I consumed, in order, with commentary:
-A cider, courtesy of Dave, that said right on the bottle that it was “Irish Cider,” which I guess means it’s made out of potatoes. (Zing!) Quite delicious; a great starter and an awesome complement to the fries.
-An Irish coffee, courtesy of Noah, in emulation of . This was, as Dave tried to tell me, a mistake. I’d always pictured something sweet and creamy; the reality is that Irish coffee offsets the bitterness of coffee with the bitterness of hard liquor. I was not yet drunk enough to handle this. Fortunately, there was…
-An “orgasm,” on Dave’s suggestion, to “chase” the Irish coffee with something sickeningly sweet. (An orgasm, according to the Internet, is made of equal parts amaretto, Kahlua, and Bailey’s. Man, I have been doing it wrong.) Dave’s plan worked perfectly, and of course chasing alcohol with alcohol is never bad! Er, right?
-I believe this is where the double shot of Goldschlager came in. Nik wanted to buy me a shot of birthday Jägermeister, but Rebecca suggested Goldschlager for my golden birthday instead. For this, of course, she deserves nigh-endless accolades. The Goldschlager, I think, will become part of the tradition, even if it is no longer thematically appropriate. Many of the partygoers joined me for a shot, and Mingus, who by this point I’d befriended, cheered us on from the stage. Damn is that stuff delicious. To quote mad_willy, drinking a shot of Goldschlager is like “taking a gold brick, rolling it in cinnamon, heating it until it's red-hot, then dropping it into a bucket of dry ice and having someone hit you in the face with it. That is to say: Awesome.” As Eddie Izzard would say, this is all true.
-There was another most-of-a-double-shot of Goldschlager for me, because Andrea barely touched hers and I grabbed it. Did I mention that stuff is delicious?
-At this point there was a Fuzzy Navel, because Dave had recommended it the night before but we’d failed to procure one. I think. There may also have been more fries. Speaking of fuzzy…
-A coffee with Bailey’s courtesy of Nik, after Dave pointed out that it’s a vastly superior coffee-based Irish-themed alcoholic beverage. It was exactly what the Irish coffee wasn’t. I was, at this point, stupendously, joyously drunk.
-For the final drink of the evening, the coup de grace you might say, my lovely girlfriend insisted on buying me a Chartreuse with a Sprite chaser, complete with detailed instructions regarding in- and exhalation (I believe to keep from bursting into flames), as had once been done for her. It’s like gin crossed with a Bengal tiger; as I seem to recall saying at the time, “It tastes like a very blurry tree.”
Ahh, but that’s just the drink list. Meanwhile, starting somewhere before the Goldschlager, we enjoyed one another’s company and the Irish folk stylings of Mingus O’Bannon. Mingus was a stout Irish fellow who looked like a lumberjack. His repertoire was traditional Irish folk, covers of stuff by the Pogues and others, and a tiny smattering of originals. He had no backup band; just him and a guitar.
At some point, Dave and Nik favored him with a hearty “OY MINGUS!” after one of the songs, and our whole table cheered. He just about jumped off the stage in surprise, but then he smiled and kicked up his performance a notch.
I went up and talked to him when I was a few drinks advanced and explained that I was there for my birthday and these were my friends. He wished me a happy birthday, and he and I talked about what sort of music he plays, what bands he’s familiar with, and where he’s played. I asked him if he knew “Seven Drunken Nights,” and indeed he did. He played it for me as a birthday request. A sample verse and chorus:
I came home on a Monday night… as drunk as drunk can be!
I saw a coat beside the door, where my own coat should be…
I called my wife and I said to her, “Would you kindly tell to me
who owns that coat beside the door where my coat should be?”
She said “You’re drunk, you’re drunk, you silly old fool, and now you cannot see!
That’s the lovely blanket that me mother gave to me.”
Well, it’s many a day I’ve traveled a hundred miles or more
but buttons on a blanket, well, I never saw before.
…It goes on like this, with increasing signs that the fellow has been cuckolded… quite funny, and Mingus knew an ending verse I’d never heard before that was delightfully lewd. He later sang “Happy Birthday” to me and somebody else who was there for her birthday. I believe the bit about me involved me being very drunk, which, of course, I was.
Toward the end of the evening, Nik, Dave, and I applauded a particularly good song with another, even heartier, “OY MINGUS!” This time he was ready for it and accepted it graciously. He caught Laura as the others were pouring me out the door and gave her a CD to give to me. He’s a good guy and a good musician; I’ll go out of my way to see him again, for sure.
My thanks to everyone who came and made this an awesome, fun-filled birthday celebration. It’s always a joy to watch my disparate social circles intermix, and I was not disappointed. There was lots of good conversation, friendly banter, and general fun-as-hellness. Thank you especially to Will for the book, which was in a lamp box but marked “not a lamp” (and also for returning my pants), and to everyone who bought me food and drinks, particularly Dave (who, unless I’ve done the math wrong, contributed at least a simple majority to my blood alcohol level that night). This was a really fantastic way to ring in the last good birthday til retirement. (Whooo, I can rent cars!)
Following a nasty 4 a.m. wake-up of the “need bread and water or I’ll hurl and possibly die” variety, I got myself feeling better, slept some more, and spent Sunday and Monday (my "birthday holiday"), basically, recovering and relaxing. There was some Magic and a little bit of cleaning. My dining room table is no longer covered in Magic cards; it is now half-covered in Magic cards that are organized into piles. Man, I thought a house with one Magic player was bad, but since Laura started playing there’ve been cards everywhere (we keep ‘em all at my place, on the grounds that I own a table).
A very good weekend on the whole. Crazy where it needed to be crazy and relaxed where it needed to be relaxed. Not quite as productive as I'd like, but hey, it was my birthday!
I’m still working on the Serenity session script. Almost finished!
…Man, I sit down, words come out. I have got to do this more often.
Quote of the day: (other than “It tastes like a very blurry tree.”)
“A healthy pregnancy begins in the bread aisle.”
--the cheery recording they play at Fred Meyer, who apparently has never taken a health class