The morning after, and the night before

I agree: A bold pronouncement of the body count incurred from Operation Snap-Dragon (see right) does seem a little macabre, as well as inappropriate, for Dr. King's birthday. Unfortunately, my mid-level hangover, the kind that is more annoying than debilitating, has left me grumpy. Usually, these things are best treated with a jug of Gatorade. But when I got to the bodega I spent about 20 minutes sorting through the 2,000 or so iterations -- fierce! xtreme! mongo! -- in a vain search for straight-up, old-school Lemon-Lime. I ended up buying a Gatorade Rain, which you can make at home with half a jug of regular Gatorade and half a jug of tap water. The dull ache in my head scoffed at the paucity of extra electrolytes and kept on tapping the inside of my skull with its little rubber mallet.

Secondly, I had to nurse this hangover as I greeted Ancient Pinhead Handyman, who stopped by at 7:45am to check out the floor he has to replace. The man is antonymous to artisanship, and the job in no way involves spackle. This should be good for a laugh.

My spirits were higher last night when Lesion, the band that left you weeping under the bed when it broke up last fall, re-formed for my friend Amy's book release party. The event was somewhat unorthodox, since most people received their copies when the lead singer flung them into the crowd. The drink of the night was a "red state special," which comprises a shot of Jack and a PBR back. I didn't know this was a red state thing. Seems perfectly nonpartisan to me. I was mostly drawn by the affordability of the deal, two drinks for the price of one. If there's anything that can bring the sides of this deeply polarized nation together, it's the allure of a cheap buzz.

(By the way, is anyone else as baffled as I am by PBR's monumental comeback? My dad used to let me take sips of that stuff in the 70s, and even then I thought it tasted like distilled cat litter. Three decades later, the hipsters are swigging it by the bucket.)

It was a great night, and I should just quit bellyaching over the fact that I can't bounce back as well as I used to. If Jack Bauer can beat up about a dozen terrorists two hours after being released from a Chinese prison, I suppose I can handle a few more games of WrestleBall.