So. Yesterday was our annual holiday lunch. We
had a champagne toast at 1:45 pm because Material Media had a great year, and
then we had more champagne, and wine, and after-lunch drinks. And then we came
back to the office and worked! Although some of us left early. And this one
continued to consume at dinner, and after dinner at a show.
In light of all this, today’s archived pieces explore the
wonders of the hangover. (Although to be honest, this writer isn’t hung-over, per se, just a little dried
out.)
On January 1, 2001, Jack Murnighan excerpted a
bit of Bukowski, proclaiming “his life
was sordid, but in the most redeeming and beautiful sense of the word.” Bukowski himself writes:
“I'm just sitting in
a room on N. Kingsley Dr., out of the hospital with hemorrhages, stomach and
ass, my blood all over the county general hospital, and they telling me after
nine pints of blood and nine pints of glucose, "one more drink and you're
dead."
And in 1999 Louise
Redd brought us a story
called “Hangover Soup.”
“I read that night's letter
over and over, and I told myself that even though Jay loved me more than some
women are ever loved, he still loved alcohol more. If alcohol were a woman, Jay
wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her.”
