So yeah, it's 6:15 on the Sunday morning after a raucous (Rawk us?) birthday celebration. Why am I up? Well, it was this or continuing to lie on my back wide awake listening to the syncopated rhythms of coughing. Poor Beck is still sick.
Yesterday was fun as could be, given the ill-state; Beck more or less slept all day and I goofed around. She got up, still in a drug-induced stupor, so we could watch a couple of great episodes of Angel (The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco and Lineage), and then at about 5:30 mysteriously would not let me go to the store... hmmmm....
Cleaned up a bit after the previous night's fandango and got ready for the dynamic sextet to take form; we're seriously like Voltron, awesome in our own regard but a super robot when together. Yep, it was Ben Ali Beck Nyet Christophe (and later Sarah) who assembled in ye olde living room for an evening of Beer, Pizza, mixed beverages (Ali was especially blown away by the mysterious "Vodka Rocket") and wait for it, wait for it, Trivial Pursuit. We also let ring throughout the house my esteemed "Radio 5079" mix, a collection of singles you would hear on the radio, all from 1950-1979. I am not clever. But via this we learned that Ali and I are awesome in the music-verse (ha!) and everyone else is not. Especially one Benjamin, who did not know who sings "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You." Here's a hint: "When the Jester sang for the _____ and queen / In a coat he borrowed from James Dean." Dude, seriously.
We also learned that the PGOAT once performed in Hair though she did not get naked. And she knows how to fingerpick "Dust in the Wind" by Kansas and one of her favorite songs is "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac. She and the Beck (though we already knew about the Beck's ability, but still) sang a beautiful happy birthday to me, complete with harmony (the musical texture, not the vampire). No one other than me knew who played the impossibly awesome song "Godzilla." Apparently only I "have a fever." The vet talk was kept to a minimum at the commands of Ben "The Grin" Sprecher, who afterwards failed to lead the conversation in a meaningful way. In other words, an incredible time of fun and enlightenment. This was accentuated by a bottle of real champagne:
Cassandra: I don't believe I've ever had French champagne before...
Benjamin Kane: Oh, actually all champagne is French, it's named after the region. Otherwise it's sparkling white wine. Americans of course don't recognize the convention, so it becomes that thing of calling all of their sparkling white "champagne", even though by definition they're not.
Which Ben popped with perfect timing upon conclusion of the aforementioned glorious happy birthday. Beck had gotten an ice cream cake (hence her questionable store-going antics), so we mowed that down (in addition to the three large pizzas and chips and salsa and oh no diet be gone). At some point around here Christophe busted out his game "Moot" which is basically the nerdiest of the nerdy, a game about English word meaning and usage. And just to up the nerd ante a bit, you play the game with a twelve sided die. We had... Ace Frehley, we had Peter Criss. Anyways, after learning amazing things, like that the name "Ursula" means little bear and the year 1000 is indeed part of the Middle Ages, we put down the game for the main event, Trivial Pursuit. In order to blatantly offend the viewer audience and get better ratings (a la the racial tribes with Survivor), we split up along gender line (though I should point out that the women had an unfair fourth member this way, and we don't even know which team their fourth belonged on). Meaning, of course, that the rules of this contest were sketchy from the get go, and apparently, in addition to never starting a land war in Asia and never trusting a Sicilian when death is on the line, we should also not trust veterinarians to be in trivia contests.
The women got first roll, and looked to run the table with nary a response from the XYs - until their second question, when they did not realize that the only country that shares a border with Britain is Ireland. They answered "Scotland," which betrays either an obvious hole in their concept of Great Britain (England, Scotland, Wales) or an obsession with Outlandish kilt wearing feelers of readiness. I'm not sure. Regardless, the die was thrown to the men, who ran ahead with it. A slew of questions and answers blurred together; off the top of my head: "Caspian Sea, Thomas Edision, Brian Wilson, Puff the Magic Dragon, the FBI, cue, Jefferson, My Lai (not Mai Tai), Beavers." There wre others, too. General Summary: the men flew ahead, up at one point six pie pieces to two, but fell victim to the ever tricky "land exactly on the middle rule" and toiled hours while the women-folk caught up. Eventually the women, clearly playing their devil-tricks on the die, landed in the middle and answered the "My Lai" question correctly(though they notably earlier had thought that Richard Nixon had fought at this same battle). The Beck, feeling the pinch of her conscience and the guilt of betraying her Jordan on his birthday, eventually admitted that she had cheated with dice rolling at one point in the game in order to secure a pie piece. A sad cry rang through the land; darkness; darkness; all were alone. And the men were declared winners by DQ (though not out loud, lest they all face the collective veterinary witch-craft of many a meal spent discussing the subtleties of rectal examination).
So that, not really in brief, is a sum-up of last night's events, the remains of which (pizza boxes, glasses, champagne bottles, general mayhem) now litter the living room, awaiting my gentle up-picking. I can't wait. But, given RBS (restless Beck syndrome), I am up and awake, so hopefully I will conquer the trashy day with aplomb.
Football on later tonight; I may actually go watch the bash over at Cristophe's and enjoy the clash in HD. Peyton's mustache never looked so clear (and his sellout soul ne'er emptier).
For the dedicated reader, who has a fever, I give you the prescription:
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