The Haze
"So passes Eric's liver, son of Eric's digestive system." - Gandalf the White
After a 5 hour blight of consciousness in an otherwise deep stream of sleep, I finally feel recovered from the weekend that was poised to smite me from this earth. It actually began a week ago, on a Tuesday, after I drank so much scotch at a karaoke bar that I mistook the pitcher of Johnny Walker in front of me as yogurt, so I gleefully had some more. At that point, I didn't even notice that all my friends had left me, and I was alone with one sock off and my keys dangling from my left nipple.
Thursday at Pegasus was much calmer, with the highlight being the MC battle on stage between a Japanese dude and a Chinese guy, who had an interesting habit of inserting "FUCK YOUR MOTHER" (in Chinese, it sounds like "cao ni ma!") into his rhymes. This being Shanghai, and Shanghai being in China, and China being a hotbed of anti-Japanese sentiment, on that night it was as if George Bush himself had walked into my apartment with a huge "Kick Me" sign on his naked ass. No contest.
Friday night was the crown jewel of imbibing. Every week on this day, Mural has an open bar for 100 RMB ($12.50 US). A few of us reserved a table and proceeded to slosh ourselves to complete silliness. While waiting in line, Keith actually got barked out by a fellow drunkard, but it makes sense because he was probably sniffing his own ass. He's Canadian, what can I say.
Anyway, to keep Laurel and Chace's identities a secret to save them from embarrassment, I'll just use "Lauren" for "Laurel" and "Ted Danson" for "Chace."
Eric (to Lauren): Isn't Shanghai great? At this table we have Canadians, Chinese, Californians, Mid-westerners, Southerners, Singaporeans, Canadians, Chinese, Californians...
Lauren: Eric, you're repeating yourself! And why aren't I drunk? I've had as much as you have! I guess I just have a better tolerance than all of you weaklings.
Eric sees Ted Danson lying on one of the plush sofas. He looks whiter than usual.
Eric (to Ted): Hey man, are you OK?
Ted sat up and pointed at Lauren. "Dude, check it out!" Lauren is hunched over and is, how shall I say, "giving back" generously to the Mural floor.
Eric: Wow.
I turned to Ted Danson to say something, but find only that Ted himself has turned around and is just as charitable as Lauren.
So there I was at Mural, sitting between an upchucking Midwesterner and a hurling Southerner. And then, with uncanny timing, Keith returned to the table clasping four more beers. "Who's ready to go!" he barks.
Roiled with over-hang, Saturday night was a birthday party for Rina, Dom, Jen Lau, and Liana, but in typical Shanghai-expat fashion it happens to be the birthday of only of the hosts, Dom. The theme of the party was "Slut and Porn," and so naturally we arrived in a blazing glory of jeans and sweaters. Thankfully, Dom, who was just turning eighteen, was in full porn spirit, and it required the Western vise of decency to keep Keith and I from looking at the fuck-me-boot-clad birthday girl giving lap dances to whoever looked greasy enough. I saw Vincent on the balcony, and after some polite chatter he mentioned that he knows he's too old when he feels guilty and perverted when informed that the girl he has been ogling all night has just turned eighteen.
Chace was nice enough to provide some beers, but after averaging three hours of a sleep the past four nights, all I could do was drink a few before we headed outside to smoke the most exquisitely rolled joint I had ever seen, courtesy of Keith. The next day and night would be filled with golf in 90 degree weather and another outing with a local Shanghainese friend who was in the urge to dance and drink some more, but at that moment, sitting on the balcony with a couple of equally tired dudes, I had found an ephemeral nirvana that was a nice break from the sleepless nights and inevitable liver damage to come.
After a 5 hour blight of consciousness in an otherwise deep stream of sleep, I finally feel recovered from the weekend that was poised to smite me from this earth. It actually began a week ago, on a Tuesday, after I drank so much scotch at a karaoke bar that I mistook the pitcher of Johnny Walker in front of me as yogurt, so I gleefully had some more. At that point, I didn't even notice that all my friends had left me, and I was alone with one sock off and my keys dangling from my left nipple.
Thursday at Pegasus was much calmer, with the highlight being the MC battle on stage between a Japanese dude and a Chinese guy, who had an interesting habit of inserting "FUCK YOUR MOTHER" (in Chinese, it sounds like "cao ni ma!") into his rhymes. This being Shanghai, and Shanghai being in China, and China being a hotbed of anti-Japanese sentiment, on that night it was as if George Bush himself had walked into my apartment with a huge "Kick Me" sign on his naked ass. No contest.
Friday night was the crown jewel of imbibing. Every week on this day, Mural has an open bar for 100 RMB ($12.50 US). A few of us reserved a table and proceeded to slosh ourselves to complete silliness. While waiting in line, Keith actually got barked out by a fellow drunkard, but it makes sense because he was probably sniffing his own ass. He's Canadian, what can I say.
Anyway, to keep Laurel and Chace's identities a secret to save them from embarrassment, I'll just use "Lauren" for "Laurel" and "Ted Danson" for "Chace."
Eric (to Lauren): Isn't Shanghai great? At this table we have Canadians, Chinese, Californians, Mid-westerners, Southerners, Singaporeans, Canadians, Chinese, Californians...
Lauren: Eric, you're repeating yourself! And why aren't I drunk? I've had as much as you have! I guess I just have a better tolerance than all of you weaklings.
Eric sees Ted Danson lying on one of the plush sofas. He looks whiter than usual.
Eric (to Ted): Hey man, are you OK?
Ted sat up and pointed at Lauren. "Dude, check it out!" Lauren is hunched over and is, how shall I say, "giving back" generously to the Mural floor.
Eric: Wow.
I turned to Ted Danson to say something, but find only that Ted himself has turned around and is just as charitable as Lauren.
So there I was at Mural, sitting between an upchucking Midwesterner and a hurling Southerner. And then, with uncanny timing, Keith returned to the table clasping four more beers. "Who's ready to go!" he barks.
Roiled with over-hang, Saturday night was a birthday party for Rina, Dom, Jen Lau, and Liana, but in typical Shanghai-expat fashion it happens to be the birthday of only of the hosts, Dom. The theme of the party was "Slut and Porn," and so naturally we arrived in a blazing glory of jeans and sweaters. Thankfully, Dom, who was just turning eighteen, was in full porn spirit, and it required the Western vise of decency to keep Keith and I from looking at the fuck-me-boot-clad birthday girl giving lap dances to whoever looked greasy enough. I saw Vincent on the balcony, and after some polite chatter he mentioned that he knows he's too old when he feels guilty and perverted when informed that the girl he has been ogling all night has just turned eighteen.
Chace was nice enough to provide some beers, but after averaging three hours of a sleep the past four nights, all I could do was drink a few before we headed outside to smoke the most exquisitely rolled joint I had ever seen, courtesy of Keith. The next day and night would be filled with golf in 90 degree weather and another outing with a local Shanghainese friend who was in the urge to dance and drink some more, but at that moment, sitting on the balcony with a couple of equally tired dudes, I had found an ephemeral nirvana that was a nice break from the sleepless nights and inevitable liver damage to come.