.this is how we chill

...from 93 til infinity...
Old school rap...I really love the good stuff, and the more I am cajoled into listening to it by my friends, the more I like it. Last night was the big fine arts kegger. I only had three beer, which I no longer enough to get me drunk nor put me under. There were four live DJs, one of which played house and the others worked the turntables in the basement. Hip hop...and subsequent freestyle/spoken word, and dancing. There is nothing particularly special about this kinda party. It's a kegger. The main difference is that if dancing occurs, it might be instigated by a dance major or some other grievously talented/creative individual. Similiarly, the student DJ's are Seneca recording students or artsies from York. I never tire of beatboxing, breaking, popping, and the other fine arts fare. I was saddened at the lack of live art going on, but Vis kids need to party too. There was a harmonica/beats session, so that assuaged me somewhat.
This morning I woke up bleary after having crashed at Roozie's place. The other crashers, Roozie, and myself went to a much beloved greasy spoon for breakfast. It's called the Fry basket. They have shown me that feta cheese and omlettes were made for each other. Five coffees later, I felt good and watched the Shining with Chris Jardin. Jardin's apartment is comical...the top floor of the building, view of the city (smog) for miles, and filled with topless guys who see no logic in putting a shirt on. A long walk home has me tired but not sleeping...morning will be brutal, I can tell.