Oh god. These hangovers just keep getting worse and worse. Not necessarily the alcohol withdrawal and headaches, but more exactly the ass-kicking my body, mind and social reputation take week after week. And sometimes the aches are backed up by scars for evidence.
All my bitchin' and whining aside, this past Friday was some of the most fun fun fun I've had in a long time, and definitely the best group outing we've had since starting the blog. No, fuck a
group outing. This was a Drinking Summit - a planned night of boozing that is worthy of capitalized letters. All the authors of Drinking Knoxville were there (see upper right section - I'm too lazy to type them here). We met, we drank, we carried on, we drank more, we moved next door, drank some more, ate and drank, then moved across the street and drank some more, we cussed, we lied, we made fun of each other, we made fun of strangers, we smoked and drank, and then moved on to yet another bar and
really started drinking, shots, shots, shots, shots, singing (loud, awful singing), more drinks, and I think that's about all. Then I went home and started breaking shit in my condo. A great night all around.
Okay, maybe I can provide a little bit more information. This Drinking Summit needed to happen for a number of reasons:
- We all knew it was our last hurrah before the Vols officially ruined the season
- The authors had not been together as a group for a long time
- I felt compelled to get very drunk in public
We started our evening at Sullivan's in the Old City. This location was a last minute replacement after discovering Calhoun's on the River had been infiltrated by the Jort Nation and there wasn't a seat to be had anywhere at the outside patio. Undaunted by their presence we quickly move to the backup location and continue our drinking quest. Sullivan's used to be a favorite college hangout where you could arrive early, grab the large front table by the window and drink as long as you had money to spend. Things haven't changed all that much in 10 years because that is exactly how we started the night. 
One of the funnier things to start the night was watching this guy in a wheelchair. (Before you start damning me to hell it should be known that he is a notorious panhandler around those parts known for his unusual behavior) We noticed this man "walking" through the intersection while sitting in the wheelchair about the same time a patrol car pulled up next to him. The cop was obviously aware who this person was because he also had a smile on his face just watching the man walk his chair from place to place. The "wheelchair walker" was rather drunk and started disrobing as time passed, and I wish I could've taken a picture of him raising his can of booze to us in salute as we all watched the show.
We then moved on to the Backroom BBQ and continued the summit. We were drinking heavily and food became necessary at the rate we were knocking 'em back. If you haven't been there before I would recommend it to anyone who likes bbq. (Ask what is fresh because they smoke different things on different days) The brisket sandwich is my favorite but it wasn't fresh so I went with the pork sandwich, still a solid choice.
Drinks, drink, drinks. We admire the classic Schlitz beer sign that was at the head of the table and wished the new, old recipe was available around these parts so we could have some of that old school brew. Soon enough, but for now we soldier on.
We're gaining momentum at this point and roll over to Manhattan's where we run into all kinds of people we know. Who knew people still went to these same bars just like back in the day? It was good to see some familiar faces in old places. The drinks keep coming, Coors this time. Banquet beer. Ah yes, I'm feeling it now. We all are, but not enough to slow down. We change venues for the 3rd (and final) time of the night and move it up the road to Preservation Pub. That is where the shots come in. Jager, check. Goldschlager, check. Kamikaze, check. I think I'm forgetting something but you get the idea - a shot parade!
One of Knoxville's best little cover bands, Big Bad Jukebox, was playing that night and they sounded great as always. We're feeling no pain at this point, I'm howling at the moon (or band), jokes are flying, laughs are shared, and we get outta there in one piece. I think that I mentioned going home to break some stuff. That wasn't the goal, just what happened. Mission accomplished!
End of the night?
