Gadzooks

A second attempt at fifty percent of this entry...damned closing the wrong window. Damned not backing things up. You'd think I'd learn. Oh well.

Anyway, it's a madhouse around here lately. A madhouse, I tell you. Social occasions seem to be arriving thick and fast, and even lining up in to the future and pleading for my attention...come to me, Ben! No, come to me instead! I'm ever so fun, and there's cheap drinks at me...

Any claims like that by any given event will probably win my favour, because although I have been (barely) able to keep up with all the excitement of late, my poor bank account has stood absolutely no chance whatsoever, especially after the weekend (more to come on that later). Indeed, I have been forced into borrowing money to maintain my punishing routine of going out and having a good time. Big ups to Mr Timothy Street for example who bought me a ticket to Spider Man 2 on Tuesday evening. I liked it quite a lot. Although there was some seriously hokey dialogue, almost any of the sins committed elsewhere by the film are redeemed by the scenes of Spiderman swinging through the streets of New York in super cool fashion. I dig these scenes a lot. As Dave pointed out in the car on the way home, this is almost certainly because during them I am living vicariously as Spiderman. And why not? That swinging carefree through Manhattan gig looks like the most fun going. Particularly neat was a following shot when Dr. Octopus has knocked Spiderman off the train, and he is trying to catch up with it again - and he sprints along the side of a building, web grapples up to the top of it, and then takes a swan dive off the corner off the roof...oh yes. Most cool. I don't know why it appeals so greatly to me, but during both films, in the scenes when he's been swinging around like that, I've just been sitting in the theatre with a big grin on my face. I think it must tap into that strange, suicidal-but-not urge some people (including myself, obviously) sometimes have up on bridges, buildings, cliffs etc, and you look down over the edge, and feel an odd compulsion to go jumping off it. If you're Spiderman of course, you can just go for it - because one of the unmentioned superpowers that Spiderman seems to have is the ability to stick a line onto thin air if necessary. He always hits something with that web. At the end of the film, he is up on a big, stand alone crane in a waterfront district, with seemingly no other tall structures around, as we have already seen from previous shots, and he leaps off and fires at something offscreen above him, and swings out of shot - what is he attached to? A passing plane? Tim theorised that the Spiderman Support Crew (Team Spidey) stealth helicopter follows him around at all times hovering overhead, giving him something to attach to and allowing him to Tarzan about in the manner to which he has become accustomed. It's like that Gary Larson cartoon - an excited looking chimpanzee swinging along high above an African scene, with a caption something like:

He had seen most of Kenya, and Tanzania was already behind him. There was no doubt about it. George had done what other chimpanzees could only dream about: he had caught the Perfect Vine.

Certainly you'd need that sort of help if you acquired spider powers in Christchurch, as Dave pointed out - or else you'd be restricted to fighting crime in a very small area around the Forsyth Barr and Price Waterhouse Cooper buildings. I guess you could walk up the side of the Cathedral, but there are stairs up the inside there anyway. Otherwise you could, I don't know, save money on the gondola? Crawl upside down on the bottom of the Moorhouse Ave overbridge over Colombo Street, and drop down and scare the bejasus out of boy racers? I think Spiderman is better deployed in Manhattan, somehow.

Anyway, a film well worth a look I thought. Watch Spiderman leap about, cheer the cameo from Bruce Campbell, cringe slightly through the odd bit of speechifying, and feel great sympathy for the nice skinny neighbour girl with an obvious hopeless crush on Peter Parker who feeds him cake - and then disappears from the film. He just eats her cake, and then hooks up with Kirsten Dunst. What a bastard. And laugh at the nepotism as Ted Raimi shows up.

The fact that I know who Ted Raimi is (he is director Sam Raimi's nephew - you may remember him from Seaquest DSV as bespectacled bridge crew guy, or more likely as Joxer the Mighty, recurring comic relief character from Xena Warrior Princess) may have come in handy last Monday night. It didn't, but it may have done. This is because Tim and I somehow managed to get in on the good times action at a staff function for Rialto cinemas, via George (not the 'Curious' or 'Of the Jungle' varieties, but rather of 'The Formerly of the Political Science Department' type). This took the form of a movie quiz. Tim and I joined George's team, expecting her to do the bulk of the work, as we folded under a barrage of obscure festival film related questions. However, this did not eventuate. In fact, as we ate the free pizza meant for the staff members, and refilled our glasses with free Coke from the machines in an untrammeled fashion, we were reminded once again of just how many movies we have seen, as the three of us proved an unstoppable force for answerng movie trivia. Ours was a convincing victory. I was quite incredulous (and I'm sure Si and Dan are, too) to find I was the only person in the room to know the giant gingerbread man in Shrek 2, Mongo, was named in reference to the character Mongo from that high-minded cinematic art piece (and comedy classic) Blazing Saddles. With Tim 'Can't Name Jack Nicholson' Street outdoing himself by pulling quotes from Cocktail of all places seemingly at random from out of his magical arse, and George successfully naming a couple of movie posters that Tim and I had no idea about (Blue Hawaii, anyone?), we powered to victory, and so not only ran off with the free drink and pizzas, but also the first prize. How embarrassing for us. So now we have 4 free passes to Laser Strike, and own Tape 7 in the Monkey series on video (good news, Dan) and The Mark of Zorro on DVD.

This is the MARK of Zorro mind you, not to be confused with the MASK of Zorro, the latter being the reasonably recent, reasonably entertaining Antonio Banderas flick. No, this is the MARK of Zorro, made in 1940 when actors belonged to studios, and had to be accomplished swordsmen and have a name like 'Tyrone Power' before they could even think about being in the movies. Dan and I watched it on Monday night. Basil Rathbone (who I believe played Sherlock Homes in a bunch of movies - this is why I win the movie quizzes, people - bow before me) played the evil Spanish captain as sneering upper class villain (many amusing instances of upper class whitebread Americans playing Mexican and Spanish people, and not even attempting an accent until they came across a line like 'Nombre de Dios!'), and the areformentioned pretty boy (I believe he would be of the type that was referred to as a 'matinee idol') named Tyrone Power played Zorro. There was a good deal of initial faffing about, as Zorro robbed the bumbling guards and gave to the poor, played everyone for fools pretending to be a useless dandy (or fop, perhaps), wooed some 17 year old chick (shades of Errol Flynn) and manipulated the greedy cowardly governor and his scheming lecherous wife, and so on, but you knew all along that the film was all about the big swordfight between evil sneering Basil and dashing cocky Tyrone. Eventually the swordfight arrived, proceeded by the following good cut-to-the-chase lines, after most of a film full of verbal sparring between the two characters:

Sneering Villain (sneering): Quiet, you poppinjay! I've no reason for letting you live, either.
Cocky Zorro (smiling cockily): What a pleasant coincidence. I feel exactly the same way about you, captain.

Excellent use of the word 'poppinjay' from the villain, and excellent use of the almost insufferably smarmy 'So, you wish to kill me then? Yawn. Very well, I'll finish you off if I must I suppose, and then perhaps take some afternoon tea' attitude from cocky Zorro. Then they go at it hammer and tongs around the greedy governor's office. And none of your CGI stuntmen with rubber swords (to avoid pixel damage) here, no sir - it's full-on flashy clangy swishy with nasty pointy looking foils. 'Hahaha! I smile cockily even as we engage in this deadly swordfight, which, as should be clear to everyone, doesn't get my knickers in a twist in the slightest!' goes Zorro - around chairs, up stairs, chopping candles in half, smashing glass in book shelves, etc. Jolly energetic stuff really, and rather impressive in an old school fashion. I will lend the DVD to anyone interested in an example of how they made films to formula back in the day.

It should be noted that these exciting free-pizza-eating Spiderman-viewing Zorro-cheering efforts came on Monday and Tuesday, mind you. That's right, even the normally humdrum beginning days of the working week can be fun when your working week, er, isn't one. I'm realise that in pointing this out, I am in fact in danger of having all the people I know with jobs grow resentful and bitter at me, and beat me to death with spoons (because it'll hurt more!) for being a drain on their taxes. That isn't my intention! Just think about your wads well-earned cash. No, I only point this out now because I want to make a comparison with the SUPER happy fun of the weekend, to be more illustrative and lead people into the 'gosh, that sounds like fun for a Monday and Tuesday...who knows what he might have got up to on the weekend, the regular time of having fun?' question. To better paint the 'total fun' picture, you understand. No! Put the spoons down!

Anyway, the weekend was pretty big, in a '12 solid hours of continuous drinking' way. Oh dear. I had been setting myself for a big night last Friday, but Friday got really big on me (in the manner of a sharply rising delivery - thanks Richie), and pretty big on a few others, from what I can gather.

I blame Claire. "Let's go drinking at 6pm!" was her call. While this can be and has been managed at Bentley's successfully, where everybody knows your name, and in relative terms beer costs 59 cents a cubic metre, I can't really recall heading into town to drink at such an early hour before (probably because the drinking I may have done on any such potential occasion killed too many brain cells). Remember that with my largely nocturnal lifestyle, 6pm equates to about lunchtime. So it was very early in the day to go and be sucked into the den of evil temptation that was Home with its 2 for 1 everything. I thought it was going to be 2 for 1 cocktails, and so I might buy 1, and thus get 2, and take it fairly easy throughout the night, and thus have some money left - but 2 for 1 everything - that's not fair. There's no resisting that. Corey and I elected for a gentle kick-off to the evening with a Long Island iced tea each, and after that - well, cue the disembodied voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi in my head, in the following internal dialogue:

Obi Wan: You don't need money for anything else.

Me: I don't need money for anything else.

Obi-Wan: What you need is more alcohol.

Me: Yes...more...

Fast forward 45 minutes, and after something with tequila in it (I believe it was called a 'Silver Mercedes', and was very nice) I'm wandering the crowded bar with a Corona in each hand (always a classy look), and then...

Obi-Wan: These aren't the beers you're looking for.

Me: Wha...they aren't?

Obi-Wan: No, I believe you're after those two over there in that fridge behind the bar.

Me: Hey yeah, I am! Wow, I guess that's why you're the Jedi master.

You get the idea. So I was starting to be well on the way to inebriation by the time Home stopped selling 2 for 1 drinks at 8 (the bastards! Lured us with their cheap and empty promises, made me fall for them, and then yanked it away from under me! Sob!). In fact, it is probably fair to say I was more than on the way - that I had actually just passed a green and white road sign on the outskirts of town that said:

Now entering INEBRIATION

Shennanigans 16
Malarkey 39
Inane Ranting 75
I Love You, Man 128

People had been arriving in dribs and drabs until there were a great many people I knew all over the place, which was excellent. Many of these people were busily speeding down the motorway that I had just travelled, although I'm not sure anyone else was booking a motel room like I was. Probably Claire and Corey. Anyway, eventually Nic made me understand through the happy but numbing fog that surrounded my brain that it was about time to go and locate the resturant booking. Duly we broke off from the main pack and set out as the trailblazing group to the Mythai Monkey Bar.

Up until that point my drinking purchases had been reasonably carefully restricted, as I had been bearing somewhere in the back of my mind that we were going to the resturant and dinner would probably cost around 25 dollars minimum. So I had about 35 left when we got there. Ah, very responsible. Then a strange series of events occurred. Well to me they seemed strange, but then I was paying very little attention to the general hubbub, and after the effect of a couple of initial beers bought for me upon arrival at the place, I was too busy anyway with checking in at the Pissed As A Newt Motor Lodge. But it seemed to go like this:

Me: Right, so what the hell is going on?

Other People: We are waiting for others to get here.

(Time passes)

Me: Right, so what the hell is going on now?

Other people: We are waiting for our booking.

(Time passes)

Other people: Isn't that large, empty table our booking?

Me: There are monkeys in the bathroom.

Other, other people: No, that isn't ours.

(Time passes)

Other people: It is ours, you know. Other, other people are talking to the management.

Other, other, other people: I think you might be right. Hmmm, it seems we have showed up with many more people than we booked for. Curses, we forgot to count other, other, other, other people and other, other, other, other, other people.

Me: Monkey! Teeheehee.

What this might serve to illustrate (apart from the fact that the word 'other' looks silly when repeated over and over again) is that there seemed to be some confusion. Eventually the confusion came to a sort of a climax:

Other people: We're going to get some platters for ten.

Me: You're gonging yet on the patterns of then?

Nic and Tim: No, they're getting food over there.

Me: Summabitch! I just got finished working out how to sit in this chair.

Nic and Tim: Yeah screw that, let's get bar snacks.

Me: Zigackly.

Duly, we shunned the 'platters for ten' and got bar snacks. This was good, as having not eaten anything virtually all day, I was in danger of going over the brink. More internal dialogue:

Liver: (panicking) My God, he'll KILL US ALL! Brain, do something! DO SOMETHING!!!

Brain: Duuuuuuuuuuuh.

Liver: Oh god, OH GOD, brain's lost it, the BRAIN has LOST IT, we're all GONNA DIIIIIIIIE...

Stomach: Get a hold of yourself, man! (slap)

Liver: Wha...thanks, I needed that. But what can we do, stomach? For the love of God, what?!

Stomach: Just stay calm, liver. I'm compelling him to eat the garnish, and the leftover satay sauce out of the dish.

Brain: What...huh? Uggh...where am I?

Liver: Brain! Thank God! Say something!

Brain: Monkeys! Teeheehee!

Stomach: Hmmm. Well, at least it's a sentence...er, almost...

Bar snacks were cheaper than eating a meal by far (actually, I'm not sure I paid for any of them, so it was MUCH cheaper than eating a meal). As everybody finished eating we were confronted with the issue of where to take the night next, and what to do with it. So:

Brain: I think I'm all right now, chaps. Higher functions are resuming.

Stomach: I knew if we got some food in me we could turn things around.

Brain: Yes, good work stomach. Now we can man factory spaceman hat.

Liver: (nervous) Are you OK, brain?

Brain: Of course liver, I'm perfectly hornswoggled goblin babies. Now, by my calculomatations, we've got about 30 dollars that were budgerigar for that are leftover satay sauce, mmmmmmmmm. But what to spend it on?

Liver: Oh no! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Stomach: Oh, you can bet I'm gonna get you for this tomorrow, brain.

And so it was that my despairing liver was dragged off to Santorini, under great protest. There it was immediately barraged by the by now legendary 'Toxo', and then carpet-bombed by a couple of follow-up shots of ouzo. Claire acquitted herself well at limbo, and Corey made some heroic attempts as well, despite being hampered by severe drunkenness and the X chromosome (girls are just better at being flexible, it seems. You'd think that breasts, with their notable sticking-out qualities - well reknowned in song and story - would prove a significant disadvantage when it comes time to throw down with the limbo-ing. But no, evidently not). There was much clapping of hands and talking of bollocks, and additional (and supererogatory) ouzo. I have no idea what time it was when Nic said we should go to Sammy's. I think this may have been the apex of my own particular level of out-of-it non-sensibility, as I had no idea (or only very vague recollections) that other people were heading to the Jolly Poacher, and the walk from Santorini to Sammy's with Corey, Fi, and Nic is very hazy. Apparently there was some ranting involved, but I'm told it was comedy ranting, so that is OK. I am quite disappointed at myself though for (evidently) not jumping into any bushes along the way, but I did have a new jacket on (ha, like that would have stopped me if had occurred to me to do it). But it must have sobered me up a bit, because I can remember getting to Sammy's, and having a jolly good time. The band playing had an excellent trombonist who was really going for it, and even drunk as I was, I had to sit there in severe musical admiration and take it in. Most, most funky. Through the magic of cellphones, We were soon joined by Andrew K., who set immediately about, as he always seems to, buying me drinks. What a legend. Doubly so as I had run out of money long ago at Santorini, the last of your tax dollars being put to good use on ouzo. (Ow! Arrghh! Not the tablespoon! Nooooo!) Fi and Corey eventually took off (Fi having possibly been driven away by my boring drunken righteous indignation and accusations of being shallow, following her claim she wouldn't want to go out with a guy shorter than she is) but Andrew, Nic and I remained until the band finished up and the place was closing on us.

So then (of course) we had to go to the Jolly Poacher. Another fuzzy journey. Why is it the walking is always the hard part to remember? Possibly it speeds the flow of alcohol-diluted blood up to your brain, or something. I can remember the conversation we were having on Kilmore Street, but I have no real recollection of Victoria Square. I can't remember if I walked over the beams on the bridge. I know I said I was going to, but possibly Nic and Andrew talked me out of it (I'm sure they can fill these trifling details in). Anyway, we got to the JP, and we must have missed people who had already been there by not a great deal.

Then, in a surprise move, there was additional drinking, of the following kind:

Andrew: You guys wanna drink?

Me: Ah, I shouldn't, I already owe yeah OK.

(Andrew brings back some murky drink in a glass)

Me: What is this?

Andrew: I'm not sure.

Me: Mmmm, mystery drink.

Nic: I don't think I had better drink this.

Me: Mmmm, Nic's mystery drink.

Nic eventually departed after receiving some drunken lecturing. He initially said "I've gotta go, it's x in the morning" and we convinced him to stay and eat pizza, which Andrew had purchased. Thank God for Andrew. Phone records indicate that Nic texted at 4:17am to say "Made it home, all good." This was pretty much the last indication I had of what the time was. More beers and conversation with Andrew. What a lovely man he is.

As we were sitting there, this Tongan bloke in perhaps his late 40s or early 50s came over and sat down with us, and started talking to Andrew - I think he knew a bit of Samoan, or maybe Andrew knew some Tongan, and that whole similar languages thing was I think going on too. So they exchanged a few words anyway, and this guy showed us his many tattoos. In the middle of this, an irate barman came over. "I'm not serving him any more!" he said, indicating our new Tongan friend. "Uh, OK, we don't know the guy" we said. He seemed OK to me. "I'm not going to serve you guys any more, either!" went the irate barman. We had seemingly been somehow made more drunk in the eyes of the establishment by talking to this guy. Anyway, we made "whatever man, chill out" noises and he left. Then the Tongan guy grabbed my arm, and launched into this huge spiel in Tongan. My Tongan is about as good as my Watusi, which is about is good as my Hindi. So I was just nodding and smiling, and Andrew was lost too. Anyway, this continued for a while, and then this guy burst out crying, which was odd. So I changed smiling and nodding to shoulder-patting, and he cheered up a bit. The bizzare aspect of course was I had absolutely no idea of what he was on about. I'm not sure if he knew this. Possibly he was telling me how he had killed a man, just to watch him die. But neither Andrew or I were remotely clued up about what he was saying. Anyway, we repelled a second effort by bar staff to forcibly boot the poor bloke out, and eventually he left under his own steam for somewhere. But that was it, there was no more service for us. "You were talking to that other guy!" they went. Guilty as charged I guess...anyway home it was, with Andrew forking out for a taxi. I estimate we got in about 6, but this is a wild stab in the dark - which it still was, so I suppose it wasn't much later than that.

I got in the door and it suddenly occurred to me I was exceedingly drunk. It's amazing how you can be sitting down chatting away and feel relatively normal, and then wham!, it comes back to bite you on the arse slightly later. I suspected something was wrong when I was attempting to use the laptop to check my e-mail, and I couldn't effectively operate the cursor. Positioning the arrow over things was far, FAR too complicated and difficult a task. I realised that typing in this state might be rather slow, so I gave in and went to bed...what a mistake-a to make-a. Should have stayed awake, drank some water and sobered up a bit first. Oh dear. Worst hangover in SOME TIME. Oh yes. Which was a shame, as on Saturday night we celebrated Dan and Calum's birthdays, but the thought of further alcohol was not pleasant.

Stomach: I warned you!

Brain: Uhhh...you BASTARD, stomach. OK, OK! I get the message.

Nonetheless, watched cricket all night. Still felt a bit seedy on Sunday, but soccer was excellent, and then played games / watched cricket / watched soccer until 9am on Monday morning. Yay Greece! Felt the drunken camaraderie of Santorini on Friday night all over again. Was broke until yesterday. Still telling the story today on Thursday. So a worthy effort I feel. I had a really good night, great to see so many people out and about. And now a party tomorrow! Huzzah!

Karen home Sunday! Triple huzzah.

Right, better post this monster I suppose. No links! Tut tut. I feel I had more to say, but it has been swallowed up by the enormity of the latest episode of 'Tales of the Weekend'. If I remember what it was, I'll come back and write another post soon. Yes.

Box on, people.