Sunday, March 27, 2005
Errbody in the club gettin' tipss. I am still drunk while writing this. Last night was the last ever trading night for Bourgie. It is closing down. Me and Tash stumbled out at 5am or thereabouts. Tash took a photo of us stumbling down the street as a memento. Ah, I stumbled drunkenly out of that bar many a time, but never as spastically drunk as I was (and still am)...
I got there after my show. As well as Jimbo and T.Mu, who had vanished by the time I got downstairs, Will and his Sydney posse had come along, and I was worried that it might be too Melbourne-centric for them, but gratifyingly they laughed and shook their heads in dismay a lot, and Dylan was my Secret Buff man, although he wasn't particularly secretive in his buffness. So I took the Sydneysiders along to Bourgie.
Bo had completely stripped the place. The booths were all gone, as was the fancy lighting and the partition next to the dance floor. You could see all the way to the back. It looked like a warehouse shell, which I suppose it is. Except I don't think warehouse shells usually have blow-up sex dolls hanging from hooks on the ceiling. Unless of course they are used to store blow-up dolls.
Everyone was also drunk and was in a good mood. Penny was still accusing me of pasting my head onto her tits in that photo from my show, saying "That's my top!" even though she took the photo herself and thus could not have been in it, plus there are heaps of other photos of me taken on the same day wearing the same top. Will was saying proudly how he got into a fight with David Shumway on the cultural studies email list. I was just thinking, "Shumway. Shum. Way. Heh. That is a funny word."
Of course, there was dancing. Jason repeatedly put on "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division and danced like an idiot. I was watching Jason and Bo thrashing about on the dance floor and thinking to myself, "They never dance. You must commit this to memory Mel," but predictably I don't really remember what it looked like. You see, it was the kind of drunkenness where I can recall that things happened, and I can recall what it felt like to witness these things, but I don't have the vivid visual impression in my brain. This is about as close as I get to "not remembering things due to being drunk", but in a way it's more annoying because I might as well not remember things for the haziness with which I do recall them, yet tantalisingly I know they did happen.
(Drunken philosophy 101.)
Like at one stage very late in the proceedings, Tash flashed her tits and Bo flashed his dick. I don't know why they did this, but Tash has been known to flash her tits on occasion, although usually in a car to a busload of teenage boys. But of course I can't remember what they looked like, even though I had groped one of them earlier in the evening when Tash was bemoaning the fact that her tits were shrinking and I was saying, "Well having nice tits is the only upside of being fat". As for Bo's dick, I remember thinking briefly that it looked like a sausage, which made me wonder if there were any sausages left because I was kinda hungry.
I also remember a really intense and pleasurable dancing session to "The Power of Love" by Huey Lewis and the News. Who was it I was talking to recently who had a nightmare that Huey Lewis and the News were coming to get them? Oh well. Lost in the alcoholic abyss. I can't really explain, least of all right now, how wonderful it was to dance to that song, playing so loud, with coloured lights and disco-ball fragments bathing the happy faces of everyone on the dance floor and shining in my own eyes to create twinkling silhouettes of my dancing friends. I remember being seized by a fierce love for Tash, who was making that silly dancing face she makes while shaking her arse and mashing her hands into fists, and Stuart, who was helplessly drunk and was shuffling around on the dance floor with his enormous, ridiculous hair. It sounds particularly retarded to say it, but with absolutely no hipster irony, I felt the power of love.
Jason was also playing "The Killing Moon" by Echo and the Bunnymen, which I will always associate with Donnie Darko. I remember being really affected by the way the song was used in the film, because what it signified to me was the poignant intensity of youth - how life can be so sweet and simple and important and seemingly steeped in significance, but yet it's so fleeting and leaves so few traces. I have been thinking about Donnie Darko again since Ben wrote that he had watched it. Last night I was thinking that it was perversely appropriate to be playing "The Killing Moon" as we got drunk and messy in a bar that soon wouldn't exist.
At one stage I went to the toilet and slipped over in a pool of vomit outside the cubicles. Now I think about it, it would have been comical because the pool was so extensive that whenever I tried to get up I just slipped over again. In the end I only got up because someone offered me their hand. But you know when people are so concerned and solicitous when you injure yourself in public and you just want them to go away because their kindness is much more humiliating than the actual injury? Like the time I fell over in Grattan Street and sprained my ankle and limped all the way down the road to the John Medley building, and then when I was in the lift someone behind me said "Are you okay?" and I was utterly humiliated because I realised they must have seen not only the initial fall but the pathetic limping down Grattan Street. So last night Bo was all "Are you okay" and I was brusquely saying "Off you go, off you go."
I rinsed my skirt in the sink but it still smelled like vomit, and the worst part is that even though I was quite drunk at the time, I wasn't drunk enough a) to throw up; b) to fall over of my own accord. I was mad that I looked and smelled like a complete alcoholic spastic because this was misleading. I also think I injured myself because my left wrist is very sore, as is my coccyx. Heh. Coccyx is a funny word, isn't it. That's because it has "cock" in it.
You know, what really strikes me about last night is that I left the place in a good mood, whereas I have usually left that bar feeling angry or depressed. Okay, I have to go now because Tash is hosting lunch. Obviously she arranged this a while ago. I called her today and we were both still drunk and confused about daylight saving. I am running late and so am tempted to drive, but I really shouldn't get behind the wheel of a car. Although I managed it on Christmas Day after the Bourgie Christmas party.
Vale Bourgie.
I got there after my show. As well as Jimbo and T.Mu, who had vanished by the time I got downstairs, Will and his Sydney posse had come along, and I was worried that it might be too Melbourne-centric for them, but gratifyingly they laughed and shook their heads in dismay a lot, and Dylan was my Secret Buff man, although he wasn't particularly secretive in his buffness. So I took the Sydneysiders along to Bourgie.
Bo had completely stripped the place. The booths were all gone, as was the fancy lighting and the partition next to the dance floor. You could see all the way to the back. It looked like a warehouse shell, which I suppose it is. Except I don't think warehouse shells usually have blow-up sex dolls hanging from hooks on the ceiling. Unless of course they are used to store blow-up dolls.
Everyone was also drunk and was in a good mood. Penny was still accusing me of pasting my head onto her tits in that photo from my show, saying "That's my top!" even though she took the photo herself and thus could not have been in it, plus there are heaps of other photos of me taken on the same day wearing the same top. Will was saying proudly how he got into a fight with David Shumway on the cultural studies email list. I was just thinking, "Shumway. Shum. Way. Heh. That is a funny word."
Of course, there was dancing. Jason repeatedly put on "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division and danced like an idiot. I was watching Jason and Bo thrashing about on the dance floor and thinking to myself, "They never dance. You must commit this to memory Mel," but predictably I don't really remember what it looked like. You see, it was the kind of drunkenness where I can recall that things happened, and I can recall what it felt like to witness these things, but I don't have the vivid visual impression in my brain. This is about as close as I get to "not remembering things due to being drunk", but in a way it's more annoying because I might as well not remember things for the haziness with which I do recall them, yet tantalisingly I know they did happen.
(Drunken philosophy 101.)
Like at one stage very late in the proceedings, Tash flashed her tits and Bo flashed his dick. I don't know why they did this, but Tash has been known to flash her tits on occasion, although usually in a car to a busload of teenage boys. But of course I can't remember what they looked like, even though I had groped one of them earlier in the evening when Tash was bemoaning the fact that her tits were shrinking and I was saying, "Well having nice tits is the only upside of being fat". As for Bo's dick, I remember thinking briefly that it looked like a sausage, which made me wonder if there were any sausages left because I was kinda hungry.
I also remember a really intense and pleasurable dancing session to "The Power of Love" by Huey Lewis and the News. Who was it I was talking to recently who had a nightmare that Huey Lewis and the News were coming to get them? Oh well. Lost in the alcoholic abyss. I can't really explain, least of all right now, how wonderful it was to dance to that song, playing so loud, with coloured lights and disco-ball fragments bathing the happy faces of everyone on the dance floor and shining in my own eyes to create twinkling silhouettes of my dancing friends. I remember being seized by a fierce love for Tash, who was making that silly dancing face she makes while shaking her arse and mashing her hands into fists, and Stuart, who was helplessly drunk and was shuffling around on the dance floor with his enormous, ridiculous hair. It sounds particularly retarded to say it, but with absolutely no hipster irony, I felt the power of love.
Jason was also playing "The Killing Moon" by Echo and the Bunnymen, which I will always associate with Donnie Darko. I remember being really affected by the way the song was used in the film, because what it signified to me was the poignant intensity of youth - how life can be so sweet and simple and important and seemingly steeped in significance, but yet it's so fleeting and leaves so few traces. I have been thinking about Donnie Darko again since Ben wrote that he had watched it. Last night I was thinking that it was perversely appropriate to be playing "The Killing Moon" as we got drunk and messy in a bar that soon wouldn't exist.
At one stage I went to the toilet and slipped over in a pool of vomit outside the cubicles. Now I think about it, it would have been comical because the pool was so extensive that whenever I tried to get up I just slipped over again. In the end I only got up because someone offered me their hand. But you know when people are so concerned and solicitous when you injure yourself in public and you just want them to go away because their kindness is much more humiliating than the actual injury? Like the time I fell over in Grattan Street and sprained my ankle and limped all the way down the road to the John Medley building, and then when I was in the lift someone behind me said "Are you okay?" and I was utterly humiliated because I realised they must have seen not only the initial fall but the pathetic limping down Grattan Street. So last night Bo was all "Are you okay" and I was brusquely saying "Off you go, off you go."
I rinsed my skirt in the sink but it still smelled like vomit, and the worst part is that even though I was quite drunk at the time, I wasn't drunk enough a) to throw up; b) to fall over of my own accord. I was mad that I looked and smelled like a complete alcoholic spastic because this was misleading. I also think I injured myself because my left wrist is very sore, as is my coccyx. Heh. Coccyx is a funny word, isn't it. That's because it has "cock" in it.
You know, what really strikes me about last night is that I left the place in a good mood, whereas I have usually left that bar feeling angry or depressed. Okay, I have to go now because Tash is hosting lunch. Obviously she arranged this a while ago. I called her today and we were both still drunk and confused about daylight saving. I am running late and so am tempted to drive, but I really shouldn't get behind the wheel of a car. Although I managed it on Christmas Day after the Bourgie Christmas party.
Vale Bourgie.
