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.”