Into The Hills: Flooding, Contemplation, and Belligerence

One night in the summer of 2007, Liz Powell held a party at the apartment complex she shared with her good friend, Summer.  If I recall correctly there were two kegs and a fair number of people.  At one point my jewish friend, Grant Gold, showed up randomly and demanded we drive my car to the Frisbee house.  When we arrived I was confused because we had just left an amusing party for what seemed like nothing at all.  As soon as we pulled up I told him I was going back and he started walking away from my car in the classic, annoyed Grant Gold fashion (stomping his feet while yelling “God Dammit!” at the sky).

I got back to Liz’s apartment complex and noticed nobody was around anymore.  I tried to open the door but it was locked.  Confused, I called Jonny.

“Hogan, go home.  The party’s over- cops busted it.”

I turned around and got back into my car.  It was kind of late, I was pretty drunk, but I didn’t want to go home just yet.  I drove to Taco Cabana and bought some tortillas and melted cheese (I ate this often as it was cheap and extremely delicious.  Better than nachos, in fact).  Around the time of the party the Aquifer was overflowing due to excessive rains.  The river at Sewell Park was literally centimeters away from overflowing onto the adjacent sidewalks.  I remember thinking to myself: I am drunk, this river is raging, I’ve been driving around with Roky Erickson’s “Don’t Shake Me, Lucifer” on repeat for at least 30 minutes- wouldn’t jumping into this river be the epic ending to an epic night?

Fortunately, I opted not to jump in.  The destructive, idiotic state alcohol puts one in when they make dangerous decisions was there, but I suppose my survival instinct was able to suppress it.  Had other drunks been there I’m sure we would have enabled one another to commit such a moronic act.

The point is this, as I mentioned earlier, I had been listening to one Rocky Erickson  song on repeat at nearly full blast while driving around the backhills of San Marcos.  Certain songs, all in the rock genre, are capable of releasing some mutated form of adrenaline within me that’s like no other form of energy.  When I used to go jogging, Slayer’s “Angel of Death” and Andrew W.K.’s “I Get Wet” caused my adrenaline reserves to release instantaneously.  When I hear most pre-Back in Black AC/DC, I don’t care what I’m doing, I’ll feel the need to be running at full speed while the ground below me crumbles and explosions go off all around me.  The only non-“rock” song I get a feeling similar to this from is “Ding Dang” by the Beach Boys.  I wrote to Mark Prindle and told him that I always envision myself standing atop two gigantic pillars, stomping up and down, while millions of people dance below me.  I actually used to simulate this on my bed in front of Boggs the Dog as he jumped up around me and, I must say, it was quite enjoyable.

  1. you make me want to believe in the existence of good times, hogan. i think that track was another itunes purchase, if not, here’s a redundant lesson in redundancy…

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