We had our little Holiday Soirée for the neighborhood last night, and I got as drunk as I’ve been in about two years – well, since this night at least. I’m here to report that the Chaser™ pills actually work quite well, because by all rights I should be dead right now, but I’m only dead tired. I don’t get how you functioning alcoholics do it, man. I’d be exhausted and have acid reflux every day if I tried it.
The best part was going through all the liquor we had in the house, thus my perfect 4-hour buzz was composed of Cuervo 1800 Anejo tequila shots, Stoli and cranberry, Jack and Coke, and 18-year-old Macallan. It was like being a kid and trying every flavor at the 7-11 because you have a $20 bill burning a hole in your pocket.
I found a picture we took three years ago last night, so I did a little before and after:
Today we jaunted over to the upper Upper West Side to St. John the Divine church to attend “A Choristers Christmas,” which was heartbreakingly fabulous. The arrangements and singing were delicious, and it was made even better by a surprise: the choir sang my mom’s arrangement of “The Sycamore Tree” without knowing that the woman herself was in the audience.
Lucy was cool for the first few readings and then decided to go “WAWAWAWAWA BOOP! Maamaamaaamaa BLURK!” during all the quiet parts, so Tessa put her in the sling and breastfed her in the wings until she fell asleep. The rest of the afternoon was imbued with the story of Kringle told as if it were a lost chapter of the His Dark Materials books, and it was quite magical.
I didn’t even mind that my ass fell asleep on those chairs; it really put us in a mystical holiday mood, my rants on a Plastic Noise Christmas© notwithstanding. Like I said, there should always be something quite scary and subversive about Christmas to go along with the treacle, a sense of awe that comes with good theater.
One Christmas when I was eight and gathered with my 40 cousins, someone shook sleigh bells outside our window at 4am, and the fear and excitedness that raced through our veins still feels palpable. I can’t wait for the Lucy tot to start getting aglow for the holidays, although sometimes it seems she already has.