Raised from the Dead
While a part of me was at odds with the city of Atlanta, there were many traditions that I do, indeed, miss: namely, lazy Sunday afternoons with the fearsome threesome. Both Jantzen and Brent are gifted drinkers, with titanium reinforced livers and tolerances that were culled from years of practice, practice, practice. Sunday brunch was often used as a hangover cure from the ill-effects of Saturday night. Even though we had visited every fucking restaurant in the fruit loop at some point in time, we’d inevitably pile into the disco bus like lemmings and head to Joe’s. Call it a default. Call it unoriginal. I call it brilliant predictability.
For the first round, Brent toggled between two choices depending on his mood: if he was feeling super-fabulous (or had a couple of $ leftover from party weekend) he’d get a mimosa. Sssuper! Otherwise, he’d detoxify with a beer. Jantzen would guzzle anything cold and wet. I’d kick start the Lord’s Day with a bloody mary. (Some weird latent tribute to the Virgin.)
Sunday Brunch would undoubtedly run itself over into Sunday afternoon. The changeover line was a fuzzy demarcation. You never realized it happened. You just keep drinking. I can’t recall the specifics of what we used to talk about. There was a lot of weekend recapping and we had opinions on everything. We patched up relationships, tallied up the weekend’s greatest obscenities and commented on the tragedy at every other table. It was like Oprah meets Dr. Phil on the set of VH1’s 100 Greatest Moments. Sunday afternoon became Sunday night, the circle shifted as friends filtered in and out, and the bar tab began to assume the same properties as the federal deficit.
This was years ago, I realize. But yesterday, I spent the afternoon at a bar with Chris and Darin and we unintentionally resurrected the lazy Sunday afternoon from the dead. The reincarnation had a few changes, though:
Replace Joe’s with Charlie’s.
Replace a patio bar with volleyball net.
(Thankfully) omit obnoxious bar tab.
Substitute “fearsome threesome” with boyfriend and crazy blogger dude.
Thanks, Darin, for getting us out of the routine. Phoenix just started to feel a whole lot more like home.
For the first round, Brent toggled between two choices depending on his mood: if he was feeling super-fabulous (or had a couple of $ leftover from party weekend) he’d get a mimosa. Sssuper! Otherwise, he’d detoxify with a beer. Jantzen would guzzle anything cold and wet. I’d kick start the Lord’s Day with a bloody mary. (Some weird latent tribute to the Virgin.)
Sunday Brunch would undoubtedly run itself over into Sunday afternoon. The changeover line was a fuzzy demarcation. You never realized it happened. You just keep drinking. I can’t recall the specifics of what we used to talk about. There was a lot of weekend recapping and we had opinions on everything. We patched up relationships, tallied up the weekend’s greatest obscenities and commented on the tragedy at every other table. It was like Oprah meets Dr. Phil on the set of VH1’s 100 Greatest Moments. Sunday afternoon became Sunday night, the circle shifted as friends filtered in and out, and the bar tab began to assume the same properties as the federal deficit.
This was years ago, I realize. But yesterday, I spent the afternoon at a bar with Chris and Darin and we unintentionally resurrected the lazy Sunday afternoon from the dead. The reincarnation had a few changes, though:
Replace Joe’s with Charlie’s.
Replace a patio bar with volleyball net.
(Thankfully) omit obnoxious bar tab.
Substitute “fearsome threesome” with boyfriend and crazy blogger dude.
Thanks, Darin, for getting us out of the routine. Phoenix just started to feel a whole lot more like home.
posted by Michael at 7:09 PM
5 Comments:
Welcome to the Gayborhood.
Every Sunday in Austin my friends and I would do "big gay nelly brunch". Biscuts &gravy, eggs, sausage, bacon, and Paula Dean's french toast was always on the Menu. As Lunch (about 2pm) turned into night, we'd usually go through a case or two of chamgagne. I really miss Sundays.
it's always good to see your neighborhood through beer goggles! i'm glad that you're settling in. . . now who's up for a marathon in january?
i still have a drink every sunday in your honor, then i have one in your mother's honor, in my mother's honor ... and for the honor i wish i had
Why do all the pictures of Chris have him stuffing something in his mouth?
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