"We've come to the ennnd of the roadddd"

Not here at this blog, though, no matter what the dead week might imply. Sorry about that. Christmas season + work + emergency "woot canal" (TM CJ Cregg) + resulting cold/sinus infection has left me too busy to sleep, much less form words into sentences in any language other than Blinky, which is my default language state (One blink for yes, two for no, three for "what the hell am I doing awake?" It's not a complex vocabulary, no, but its rules are static and exacting.). But after my friend Mere took me to task for my Blog of Silence, I decided to write about one of the reasons that I'm so sick: her boyfriend Matt's 27th birthday celebration.

See, my friend Matt's birthday is on the day after Christmas and he usually gets sort of a bum deal: those people who are still in town to celebrate are too drugged with tryptophan (we do turkey in the erin e household just in case any Jews want to stop by and argue the merits of menorahs over christmas trees) or, in many cases, xanax due to family vacations, to come out and party with him. So this year he decided to have his party a few weeks early in order to maximize both party attendance and present haul. He and Mere rented out the clubhouse in their building (the historic Rice Hotel - look it up! Site of Kennedy's second-to-last meal!) and got a karaoke machine and we all proceeded to Party Down.

Now, as a rule, I do not sing. This isn't a self-esteem issue; rather, I have too much compassion for my fellow man to assault his ears with my barncat-screeching-voice. It's just not right to subject a person to that sort of pain. Maybe Dubya should send me down to Gitmo - my voice lifted in song is, like, 100x more enhanced an interrogation technique than waterboarding. But maybe I was feeling particularly sadist last Saturday evening, because I joined my friends and got up and sang a lot. So much so, in fact, that we managed to make the party go till 4am before any of us looked at the clock. That, coupled with sore limbs from too much dancing, equals a successful party in my book. The birthday boy seemed really happy with all his gifts and everyone got along famously. So, because pictures speak 1000 words in non-Blinky language, here you go:

This is Matt. He is a fan of many late-70s dances, but mostly The Running Man.



Everyone sang a lot. Here are Ray, Mere and Jerry. I can't remember what they were singing, because I was already drunk at that point.



Jerry took out his violin and added to the festivities.



Daniel rocked the shit out of something.



As did Jill.



This is Ray's Hat. It was beloved by many. He got it at Wal-Mart! I probably shouldn't give that secret away if I'm ever to find a similar one.



You guys, karaoke is srsly hardcore.



You can see the rest of the set here.

xx erin e