Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Vodka and Panzerfausts
(reprinted from a comment I made over at PL's)
I gave up tequila for vodka after college. The people I ended up drinking with changed, and Russians believe it is rude, or perhaps even bad luck to not finish a bottle once opened. So that means that if it's just two of you left and three-quarters of a bottle of Русский Стандарт (Russian Standard)... You simply must drink it.
This led to more than one occasion of almost freezing to death while passed out in my car. Goddamn diesel glowplugs... Or the cold, greycloud mornings, with a hangover so bad that the cacaphony of the snow falling on the rusty fire escape outside the window sounds like panzerfaust fire in the pre-dawn gloom. Black spots swim in your vision, until the realization that the toilet you just puked in is not yours, and that you have absolutely no idea where the hell you are. Cold water and rough soap on your hands and face, and your t-shirt makes a poor towel. You cling to the wall for support as you edge down the cracked stucco hallway, looking for the room where you came from, because that room contains the best chance of finding your pants. Whereupon you spy your hostess, asleep beneath the covers, not nearly as beautiful as she was the night before, when she was bathed in the warm glow of kerosene lanterns and tumblers of vodka with cloves in them. Picking your pants up off of the floor, you shake out a cigarette from the rumpled pack and spark the gunmetal silver Zippo, warming your fingers over the wick as you light the morning's first smoke.
Yeah, I had to give up the parties and the glamorous life, for it certainly would have killed me, in the end.
I gave up tequila for vodka after college. The people I ended up drinking with changed, and Russians believe it is rude, or perhaps even bad luck to not finish a bottle once opened. So that means that if it's just two of you left and three-quarters of a bottle of Русский Стандарт (Russian Standard)... You simply must drink it.
This led to more than one occasion of almost freezing to death while passed out in my car. Goddamn diesel glowplugs... Or the cold, greycloud mornings, with a hangover so bad that the cacaphony of the snow falling on the rusty fire escape outside the window sounds like panzerfaust fire in the pre-dawn gloom. Black spots swim in your vision, until the realization that the toilet you just puked in is not yours, and that you have absolutely no idea where the hell you are. Cold water and rough soap on your hands and face, and your t-shirt makes a poor towel. You cling to the wall for support as you edge down the cracked stucco hallway, looking for the room where you came from, because that room contains the best chance of finding your pants. Whereupon you spy your hostess, asleep beneath the covers, not nearly as beautiful as she was the night before, when she was bathed in the warm glow of kerosene lanterns and tumblers of vodka with cloves in them. Picking your pants up off of the floor, you shake out a cigarette from the rumpled pack and spark the gunmetal silver Zippo, warming your fingers over the wick as you light the morning's first smoke.
Yeah, I had to give up the parties and the glamorous life, for it certainly would have killed me, in the end.
# posted by Crom @ 18:53 
Comments:
<< Home
It has occurred to me some of the better writing I have done recently graces your blog rather than mine...
However, aside from this autobiographical anecdote the recent writings truly belong at your page as I wouldn't have crafted them had you not provided the inspiration.
Thank you.
However, aside from this autobiographical anecdote the recent writings truly belong at your page as I wouldn't have crafted them had you not provided the inspiration.
Thank you.
Well, you see, this is what I'm talking about, loosely, when I talk about 'transcendent consciousness,' or connected minds. Inspiration does come with connection; it doesn't transpire in a vacuum. I have been thinking about that phrase lately, 'when two or three are gathered together in My name, I will be there among them.'
Creativity is a spiritual practice, for me. Inspiration comes from connecting with something else, whether that be an idea, a piece of music, or a conversation. It's not a subsumption of my individuality in something or someone else, or God forbid any sort of 'groupthink,' but it's not an isolate Individual Vision, either.
That was probably too much information. :-)
Post a Comment
Creativity is a spiritual practice, for me. Inspiration comes from connecting with something else, whether that be an idea, a piece of music, or a conversation. It's not a subsumption of my individuality in something or someone else, or God forbid any sort of 'groupthink,' but it's not an isolate Individual Vision, either.
That was probably too much information. :-)
<< Home
