I went to a house show last night after not having been to a house show in two or three years. I forget that younger kids are always growing up and being replaced by new younger kids.
This place was like every Iowa City party ever only in fast forward- the cops showed up before the first band got started. Tons of empty beers everywhere, and people trying to get someone to buy them beer. Ah, the joys of being legal and having a backpack. I ended up leaving though because it was too paranoid of an enviroment after the first two times cops showed up. Since I had taken a taxi there, I called up the dispatcher office and decided to go drink beers at the Brother’s Lounge. My cab ride was pleasant. The driver was listening to Generation X. He was not dancing with himself.
Anyway, that party also reminded me of one of my favorite Jawbreaker songs, ‘Bad Scene, Everyone’s Fault’ so I decided to upload that and share it with ya’ll.
I’m pretty sure that I just saw a male prostitute get picked up for a ride on the corner of 24th Ave and St Mary’s. Which is not a strange place to see prostitutes in my neighborhood. In fact, that entire stretch of 24th Ave is a good place to site all kinds of prostitutes, crack addicts, and crazies.
I’ve never seen a male prostitute on that street corner before. Know what that means?
THE GHETTO IS EQUAL OPPORTUNITY! Or something to that effect, I guess.
He was standing out on the corner for awhile. Shirtless. In a tiny pair of shorts and nothing else but these big honking white sneakers. He was standing there ten minutes ago when I got my fresh pack of smokes. And then just now when I went to get some ice for my soda he was hopping into a big white van.
Don wasn’t hungry when he woke up. The afternoon sun was filling his bedroom and even hiding under the covers couldn’t get him back to sleep. His stomach felt like it was tied up and stuffed away in a hidden crawl space, screaming for freedom. His head was throbbing like a piston and he leapt from the bed to his feet in a mad dash to the bathroom.
Vomit-
Thick alcoholic spew poured out of Don’s mouth and nostrils and he gagged in response. The horrible taste was filling his mouth and his stomach acid was burning his throat.
“Oh fuck me-”
More came up and he grabbed the edges of the bowl with both hands for support. He also wanted to reduce the spray that he had coated the entire front of the toilet with. Such a disgusting mess.
He wiped up the vomit with pieces of toilet paper and wiped the seat of the toilet clean. He flushed the evidence away and dug through the medicine cabinet for ibuprofen. Three little pills and two glasses of water later, he rushed back into the bathroom to throw up water.
“Son of a-”
This time hurt less. The water came back out almost as cold as it had gone down. The acidity was not present and there was only a faint taste of bile- which was much less noticeable than the taste of bile that had already coated his mouth and tongue.
He looked in the mirror. He was three days unshaven, his eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles underneath his eyes- tell all evidence of the exhaustion from too much night life and not enough sleep. He tried two more glasses of water and began running bath water.
Some hangovers require more than a hot shower. Hangover bathes involves one things only- submersion. There is no music one would want to listen to while hung over in the bath. There is no reading material one desires. Hot water and a submersed head make the pain go away- or at least less noticeable. The bath water still running, he walked into the other room to make coffee.
He wouldn’t want the coffee immediately. He wanted to be in a blur for as much of the hangover as he could manage. Besides, his soured stomach couldn’t handle the coffee right away if it couldn’t even handle water. The pot began to brew and he went and climbed into the bath tub.
