the idiot-box, music and boooooze

Do you think blogs will endure? When I am old and my brain is turning to frogspawn, will I be able to log onto The Voice Of The Munkey, and find out what I was up to in December 2005? Perhaps the WWW as we know it won't even exist by then, and everyone will be sharing information via some completely as-yet-unimagined means of communication. Oh well, just in case...

Last weekend was my work Christmas shebang, held at the home of my boss and his wife (who is kind of also my boss). The event essentially involves more alcohol than can fit in a house, a very nicely catered lunch/dinner, and munkey struggling but managing not to talk about cute boys *office-closet munkey*. So there were about 11 hours of solid drinking. At 2.30am I finally lay me down to bed on the floor of my boss's study. One of my drunken workmates had decided to spend the evening on the verandah, it being a warm night. He also decided to continue playing with the jukebox which was also on the verandah. The study window (behind which I was trying to sleep) was right next to the jukebox. My workmate decided to program tacky, twangy country-&-western songs. Hundreds of them. I lay awake for quite a while, bathed in the excruciating tones of: "She's gone country! Look at them boots! / She's gone country! Back to her roots!" and other such nauseating gems. Murder was seriously contemplated, but I finally managed to snooze off. In the morning, we discovered the guy on the verandah curled up near-naked with the boss's family dog. Country music & beastiality... nuff sed.

The rest of my time has been mostly spent with my adorable friends, accompanied by alcohol and television.

We've spent some time here:

and here:

We've gone back in time to meet with these folk:

and I went to visit these shady characters:

We all hung out with these guys:

and I also got to meet this lovely guy. But he's not a TV character (as far as I know).

Meanwhile, I've been practicing playing carols on my keyboard for our annual Christmas Extravaganza next weekend. I'm sure the neighbours are highly sick of hearing me bumbling through 'We Three Kings' and 'O Holy Night'... but hey I'm sick of them screaming about drugs and how the world is full of assholes, so fair's fair. (Okay so there's only one neighbour who does that, but one-bad-apple & all that) It turns out that living without a piano for nine months has made me VERY rusty on the old ivories (or plastics, as the modern world would have it). I'm really hoping I don't let everyone down on Sunday *high-self-expectation munkey*. I find myself feeling a lot like this guy:

For those who might not remember, that is Don Music - Sesame Street's resident maestro, who would frequently get so frustrated that he bashed his head on the keys and sobbed. I can relate. (Incidentally, he was taken off the air, because apparently kids at home started following his lead and wacking themselves. Yet again, a few moronic badly-supervised kids spoil the fun for everyone.)

Bring on the drunken singing!

~~~~~~~