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First, it was off to lunch, for the cafeteria's idea of a Valentine's Day treat: tons (and I do mean TONS) of chocolate foods, from malted milk balls and French silk pie to cantaloupe smothered in chocolate sauce. I like chocolate as much as the next guy, but seeing so much of it in one place at one time made me wanna wretch. I compensated by indulging in some wacky food comedy, such as stuffing my mouth full of malted milk balls and smashing a slice of pie in my hand. It's very cathartic.
For some reason, I then launched into a spiral of minor depression, inspired by my recent failed wooing attempt and the general Valentine's Day blues. I told a female friend of mine that I hated her gender, then attempted to ease the pain by picking up some early Joe Jackson, namely I'm the Man. Unfortunately, it lacks the nasty and vicious edge of Look Sharp! and while it's probably good pop, it didn't fit my mood. For a while, it was just one of those days where I wished I didn't already own all of Elvis Costello's albums, so that I could buy them again and thrill anew to the blistering bile of This Year's Model and Blood & Chocolate. Alas, I had to settle for popping in King of America once again. It seems to be a good quiet depression album.
From a brief jaunt to do errands, it was just a hop and a skip to the Garden Cinemas at Old Orchard Mall in Skokie, IL, where we took in Bobby Duvall's new flick "The Apostle." What a tremendous movie. I'm writing up a review for the next issue of Pop-Culture-Corn (coming out tomorrow; you can reach it from the opening page of THIS VERY SITE) so I won't get into its brilliance here. But Duvall is one of the great all-time actors for this performance alone. He really deserves the Oscar, even though he won't get it.
Later yesterday evening, the gang and I headed out to Phi Mu Alpha, NU's music fraternity, for a "Free Love Seventies" party. I left the building decked out in sneakers, a pair of really baggy cords, and a wacky Hawaiian T-shirt. I looked more eighties in some ways than seventies, but no one noticed. Two glasses of "Happy Punch" (some red liquid containing lotsa alcohol) and I was on my way, both mentally and physically, to another party with a smaller group, this a "Come as a Spice" party. A bit of quick thinking, and I was Magnum Spice, P.I. which earned me some (I think) well-deserved laughs. Some other funny Spices: Jesus Spice, White Trash Spice, Butch Spice, and my friend Karl, who went as the Anti-Spice. It was big fun to rock out on the dance floor to the Spice Girls, and we met some cool people who live down the hall from us and have been hidden from our awareness until this point in the year. Funny how things work out that way.
Our journeys then took us back to Phi Mu, where two buddies were passed out on a bed, taking turns vomiting into a garbage can and generally looking near death. Ah, college life. I helped myself to some more punch and settled in for the long haul. In my absence from the Phi Mu party, I learned that a friend of mine had spent twenty minutes fondling a drunken woman's breasts, doing so with no aid from "roofies." Good for him, I say. Suffice it to say that more drunken hijinks ensued, taking us to Burger King for a late-night snack and then home for the sleep of the just.
One of my many odd quirks which was apparent over the course of last night was the fact that when I get drunk, I become a music geek. This leads to my pontificating to a rapidly-dwindling audience of friends and acquaintances on whatever pop topic happens to be on my mind. At the Spice party, the hostess was playing Beatles records on the original vinyl, which led me to the following theory:
No one remembers who invented the alphabet, but everyone knows who wrote Romeo & Juliet. Similarly, the Beatles' music will fade over time, since they as authors of the pop music "alphabet" will become less important than those who use the tools of that language to craft great music. A bit daft, I know, but it made sense at the time, and it got some rave if slightly tipsy reviews from my buddies. I think there's some truth at its core, though. I've always liked the thought of the Beatles as authors of the "language" of pop music as we know it today, taking the clues provided by Chuck Berry, Elvis Presley, the blues and country and Broadway, and using them to unlock a great mystery and reveal the secrets of great pop to the world at large. Will they fade over time? Probably not. I guess there's no reason to even WANT them to fade, really. Time will tell the tale, I suppose.
As for my Valentine's Day idea to listen to all of Elvis Costello's recorded work, it's not going so well. Too much music to consume in one day. I have been digesting Elvis, though, and recently shifted to The Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, returning to my glory days of pining in high school. Should be a fun night.