Hotel Edwards
This weekend started off nice and calm. Everyone was out at a show when I got home. Anthony came home soon after I got home and he just read comics on the couch until he went to bed at around 1. I painted until bed, which was around 1:30.
Saturday began the hotel Edwards saga. We gave the name Hotel Edwards to our house because last year around the holidays we housed a different friend of ours every other week. Everyone moved away last year and when it came time to come back to the South Shore for xmas, they crashed with us.
That was fine. It was fun. Seeing friends who had moved away, getting to catch up, etc.
This weekend was a little weird.
Two dudes from NY have been recording at the studio since Saturday morning. They may still be there when I get back home tonight. I'm not sure.
Anyone who's been around a recording studio knows that recording is just another excuse to consume enough alcohol to kill a bull elephant. These two are no exception.
One's a Billy Zane lookalike called "Dingo" by his friends. The other is a rusty-haired Englishman named Nick, who I dubbed "Nigel". After recording all day they unwinded by playing pool later in the evening. Everyone in the house was in on it. Pool is a good time. Unfortunately when it came time for sleep, and that time hit me hard and early, the pool playing's end was nowhere in sight. And my room is next to the pool room. And my door barely even stays shut.
One by one everyone in the house began to go upstairs to bed. I had tried in vain to sleep. Earplugs were no help. With everyone in the house gone, they still didn't show any signs of stopping. I finally gave them shit and they passed out after one last game.
In four days we'll have housed seven different people at hotel Edwards. I'm glad we have the ability to do so, since it helps all parties involved quite a bit. I think in some cases I'm just too neurotic to relax and go about my business. I tend to feel not at home in my own home. Walking on eggshells. Who knows. Maybe it was lack of sleep. I'm thinking I'm too sensitive with shit like this. I get kept up by noise and for a day or so after I start to get agoraphobic. Doomsday looms. I've been like that since I was a kid.
Weak.
The weekend was otherwise great though. Baybeh's birthday party, grilling of swordfish kabobs. Pumpkin beer. A motorcycle ride to Mashpee and back to see the grandparents.
Shit I almost forgot, some good news: I finished two paintings over the weekend. Two portraits painted to look like old deguerreotypes of an odd looking couple from the 19th century which are housed in beautiful victorian brass oval frames I recently bought. I have a few new pieces to put online. Look out for those soon.
Saturday began the hotel Edwards saga. We gave the name Hotel Edwards to our house because last year around the holidays we housed a different friend of ours every other week. Everyone moved away last year and when it came time to come back to the South Shore for xmas, they crashed with us.
That was fine. It was fun. Seeing friends who had moved away, getting to catch up, etc.
This weekend was a little weird.
Two dudes from NY have been recording at the studio since Saturday morning. They may still be there when I get back home tonight. I'm not sure.
Anyone who's been around a recording studio knows that recording is just another excuse to consume enough alcohol to kill a bull elephant. These two are no exception.
One's a Billy Zane lookalike called "Dingo" by his friends. The other is a rusty-haired Englishman named Nick, who I dubbed "Nigel". After recording all day they unwinded by playing pool later in the evening. Everyone in the house was in on it. Pool is a good time. Unfortunately when it came time for sleep, and that time hit me hard and early, the pool playing's end was nowhere in sight. And my room is next to the pool room. And my door barely even stays shut.
One by one everyone in the house began to go upstairs to bed. I had tried in vain to sleep. Earplugs were no help. With everyone in the house gone, they still didn't show any signs of stopping. I finally gave them shit and they passed out after one last game.
In four days we'll have housed seven different people at hotel Edwards. I'm glad we have the ability to do so, since it helps all parties involved quite a bit. I think in some cases I'm just too neurotic to relax and go about my business. I tend to feel not at home in my own home. Walking on eggshells. Who knows. Maybe it was lack of sleep. I'm thinking I'm too sensitive with shit like this. I get kept up by noise and for a day or so after I start to get agoraphobic. Doomsday looms. I've been like that since I was a kid.
Weak.
The weekend was otherwise great though. Baybeh's birthday party, grilling of swordfish kabobs. Pumpkin beer. A motorcycle ride to Mashpee and back to see the grandparents.
Shit I almost forgot, some good news: I finished two paintings over the weekend. Two portraits painted to look like old deguerreotypes of an odd looking couple from the 19th century which are housed in beautiful victorian brass oval frames I recently bought. I have a few new pieces to put online. Look out for those soon.
posted by Hooker at 10:22 AM
4 Comments:
I kind of feel like I'm the cute stray cat that wanders around the hotel. No one really knows how the cat got there, they assume someone fed her milk once and now she just won't leave, but no one has the heart to kick the poor little thing out.
Although I suppose if that were true, Sophie would have killed me by now...
If you change milk to tequila then you're right.
tacky knows the deal
Mmmmm. tequila. Why do you have to be so delicious?
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