Baby Bug Blowback

Listening to: Mixmania #1, Peace, Love, and Rock-n'-Roll

More on the music selection in a moment as I summarily dismiss "Mardi Gras, Part II".

After my last post I never made it back out to the party. A vicious malaise snuck up on me. Considering I'd avoided everything the kids had, I was wondering if and when my number would come up. Well, it came up and hit me with all the subtlety of porn spam. The downside was that the heel-shaking hurling was followed by fever, chills, and body aches. The upside was spending the rest of my weekend and all Monday on the couch, watching marathon History Channel; the four-part history of battleships was compelling stuff. Green tea, crackers, back issues of Rolling Stone I'd never read, and really, I only got in an hour of semi-consciousness for every ten hours of sleep.

If I weren’t feeling like shit in a specimen cup, I'd have thought I'd died and gone to slacker heaven (without the bong hits).

For all you wags who suggest it was just a two-day hangover resulting from Mardi Gras madness, stow it, my intake that evening was only moderately dipsomaniacal, a drop in the ocean compared to truly debauched benders of the past. By Carnivale or even local standards, I was a lowly Two on the inebriate scale (“Sixteensh” being Detox bound).

X was kind of enough to keep the brood. The kids were wonderful when they made it over here, merciful imps; at least no one dumped a mound of tuna casserole on the floor. I’m selling them short, they were angels, they really were.

So mixmania rocks, ya'll. Mamacita, thank you so much, excellent job. Some of it I knew, a lot of it I didn't (I really dig the 12 Girl Band's version of "Clocks").

The fun of sharing mixes is realizing the other mixer has included cuts I had considered (i.e. Jeff Buckley - THAT cut, in fact!) but especially cuts that make me go "Oh yeeeaaahhhhhh..." The Harvey Danger, man that grooved me so completely a few summers ago, an open the windows and play it loud, sing it and don't care who's watching, a beer-sloshing, air-punching song.

It's been my soundtrack all evening.

I turn forty-four in eighty-five minutes and I still feel twenty-two. Seventy Thousand things to get done this week and about fifteen free minutes to accomplish them. Convalescence might have caught me up on sleep but it killed my single dad efficiency coefficient. If time is money, I'm Bush and the budget, my grandkids will be paying this debt.

At least I have a sublime music mix to make the upcoming stress-out do-able.