The operation went swimmingly as far as I can tell. I’m not going to post a photo of the back of my throat. Feel secure in the knowledge that it is NOT PRETTY right now. Luckily, the pain is mild. Maybe that’s just the lingering anesthesia, but I prefer to think that I am just super awesome. You know. Narcissism.
On request from Carol, I did record my super sweet post-surgery voice. Between the tube they shoved down my throat, the drugs, the surgical excision of my tonsils, and the burning of my adenoids, my voice sounds really great right now. I think I will sing an opera to Richie, my 82 year old super intendant.
Don’t you want to listen to an entire book-on-tape version of Crime & Punishment read by me in that voice? I know you do!!!
Here’s to hoping my recovery is as easy for the rest of the two weeks I took off for it. The doctor’s doom and gloom about the utter misery I’d be suffering through seems, at this point, to have been hyperbole, but there is time for things to get bad and painful. Thank The Flying Spaghetti Monster for the bottle of hydrocodone syrup I’ve got.
One minor complaint though. I’d kill for a taco. Like, murder and watch the life drain out of someone’s eyes as I choked them to death kind of kill. Someone want to bring me a taco shake? Sausage smoothie? Lamb sorbet?
Not sure what you’re looking for? How about a visual aid:
Delicious!
Those pock-marked balls of vestigial tissue are the bastards that have caused so much drama in my life over the past few months and tomorrow they will be excised from my face forever. So take a good look at them because the next time I post a photo of my gaping maw, they won’t be there. They’ll hopefully be in a jar in my closet.
Also consider this posting a notice that things might be slow here at The Black Laser for a little bit while I recover. My doctor has really been hammering it in that I am going to be in some considerable pain while my throat heals meaning I might not be up for posting amazing things for all of you to enjoy. For this I apologize. In the case that he is being overly dramatic and my throat does not hurt quite so badly as he makes out it will, then you can expect me back in a few days. We shall see.
Wish me luck. I have to be at the hospital at 7:30 tomorrow morning.
On Sunday, I attended the (probably) last ever Williamsburg Pool Party. They’re called that because they were originally put on in McCarren Pool, but when the city decided to renovate the pool the organizers moved the parties to the East River Park. Did I write about this when I posted about Chromeo? Whatever. Anyway, the shows are awesome and free and yet another awesome thing about living in New York City. The crowds are wild, the women are stunning, and there’s no better way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
Unlike the pouring rain of the Chromeo party, this Sunday was a hot sticky mess. Standing in line in the direct sun wearing a black t-shirt, it wasn’t but a few minutes until I started sweating my ass off. This particular party was something of a gamble, too. They’d only announced two performers for the show: DeLorean and Dominique Young Unique with “Special guests”. Rumors ran wild, no doubt partially thanks to me standing in line for Chromeo and this one saying things like, “I hear the special guest is The Flaming Lips.”
“I hear the special guest is Daft Punk.”
“I hear the special guest is The Rolling Stones.”
“I hear the special guest is The Grateful Dead with Jerry resurrected.”
It became a damned fun game and then extra fun when my own rumors would come back to me. Awesome.
Even waiting in line no one has ANY idea who was going to be playing as the special guests. Charles had heard Gucci Mane, but that was just speculation. After a quick, forgettable set by Dominique Young Unique and a very poor set by DeLorean (learn to sing, guy), we still had no idea who was going to be playing next.
Luckily, the special guests were, to put it too mildly, fucking AWESOME. DMC (of Run DMC) with Andrew WK, Gucci Mane, Doug E Fresh, and Big Freedia. Just stupidly great.
But for me the real standout of the surprise guests was Big Freedia. From where I was standing on the beer side, I couldn’t tell if she was a dude or a chick, until I heard her speak and I knew she was a dude. I have never in my life seen so much ass shaking. It was mesmerizing. She had a line of women on the stage bent over, asses in the air, shaking their shit for all of Brooklyn like professionals. Amazing. The music too was unlike anything I’d heard before. The most similar thing I could reference was Detroit Booty House, but it definitely had a different edge to it. Jesse told me that it was something called Sissy Bounce that came from New Orleans.
And right there I knew I’d found the new hot shit, thought it’s nothing new for New Orleans. Big Freedia has been pumping out Bounce jams for a decade, but it’s new to me and that’s all that matters. You guys know that I’m the main character, right?
I could blather on and on all about it, but check out the videos below for words straight from the First Lady of Bounce’s mouth.
When you’re done with those, enjoy some tunes. If this shit doesn’t make you want to F&F, you need to check your pulse.
Not enough yet? How about some articles and websites?
