November 19, 2010

It’s Thursday. That means it’s almost Friday. That means it’s almost the weekend. That means you should listen to Weekend. They’re from San Francisco. The song is called “Coma Summer.” Speaking of comas, Four Lokos are banned in NY as of this weekend. Or something. So cheers.

Plans always sound fantastic when you’re drunk, don’t they? Follow me: you’re at a bar—we’ll call it Niagara. You’re having a few drinks—we’ll call them High Life’s. You’re hanging out with good friends—we won’t call them anything because I respect privacy here. Before long you’re pretty stewed (great new euphemism I learned from The Basketball Diaries, thanks Soybomb), and plans for tomorrow start flying all over the damn place.

Because you’re feeling great, right? You want to let the good times roll. It’s Friday night, a long week of work is behind you and you’re convinced that you’re about to have the best weekend EVER. Gonna knock it out of the park. A conversation might go something like this:

Friend #1: Dude, I’m so glad it’s the weekend.

You: Yea man, me too.

Friend #2: Word. This week sucked.

Friend #1: It’s supposed to be awesome outside tomorrow. Let’s do something sweet.

You: Yea.

Friend #2: Definitely.

Friend #1: You know what we should do?

You: What.

Friend #2: What’s that.

Friend #1: Go hiking.

You: Hiking?

Friend #2: Hiking?

Friend #1: Yea man. Hiking. Think about it. It’s supposed to be a beautiful day. All we do is get on the Metro North, fucking cruise for a few stops, then they let you out right on the camping grounds. So easy. And we can even bring some beers with us and chill out up there. Doesn’t that sound sick? I say we fucking do it.

You: Yea, that does sound cool. Fuck it, I’m down.

Friend #2: Hell yea man, that’s a great idea. Absolutely.

Friend #1: Awesome. Fuck yea. We’re doing it. You guys want a shot?

And that’s how it starts. And ends. It was done before the plans were even thought of. There are any number of scenarios you could slot in here: football games in the park, hitting up a bunch of museums uptown, heading out to Coney Island, skating all day, etc, etc. For some reason, all sound spectacular at 2:30 in the morning.

One of my all time favorites was a plan hatched by a buddy of mine for a party to be thrown on our friend’s rooftop. The idea was to scour the city the following day for buskers (you know, those people that play music in the subway/on the street) to assemble a band to play at the party. Like actually go around and recruit an all-star team of homeless musicians and convince them to play for us (the safety implications were besides the point). Man, what an amazing idea. This is an incredibly ambitious plan for a sober person, nevermind someone who’s three sheets to the wind on a $3 bottle of red wine. Needless to say, it never happened, but you gotta give credit for drunken ingenuity.

Another one that seems to be a favorite is making plans for brunch. First of all, why is everyone so damn obsessed with brunch all of a sudden? Is it a new cool thing for New Yorkers? I always thought brunch was something you did after Easter Mass. Or with your old ass Aunt. Or your in-laws. Something that sucked. Not something that you’re amped about waking up for. Why can’t we call it “getting food when we wake up”? Whatever it is, it rarely happens when you plan it. In fact, brunch often dies the way the aforementioned plans do: I get home around 4AM, pass out, wake up for the first time around 9:45, quickly turn of my phone so as to give myself an alibi in case anyone tries to contact me to actually follow through on said plans (they never do, for the same obvious reasons), then pass out again until around 11:30.

Then my real weekend starts.

For the hell of it, and because they’re one of my favorites, here’s “The Plan” by Built to Spill (old school video!):