Things I really enjoy about my new neighborhood:

– The Little Nut Hut behind the bar at the ITP
– Egregious hipster-watching at Rainbo & Rodan
– Cheerful, punk-listening, blue-haired baristas at Jinx to make my on-my-way-to-work coffee (“if we make it iced, i can fit another shot in!”)
– Indyvoter.com grafitti on Milwaukee Avenue
– Saturday evening softball games at the Section 8 apartment complex next door
– A 2-minute stagger to the local
– The corner that redefines convenience, with a 7-11 (complete with booze!), a Walgreen’s, a pizza/fast food joint, *and* a bar
– The patio at the Pontiac on a Sunday afternoon
– The American College of Office Technology, a positively seedy-looking institution where you can take courses in Networking (learn to go to bars and talk to people!) and Accounting (and get them to buy your drinks!), among other things

It’s been a long weekend of work and play, and I’ve been enjoying the hell out of the neighborhood.

Oh yeah, and the title of today’s post comes from a story told to me over our quasi-traditional brunch yesterday by a friend, who was talking for some reason about a party several years back where he and his friends drank a lot of everything they could get their hands on, got naked and “a little carried away” and cut up the couch with chainsaws (yes, plural), and then set fire to a cardboard cutout of Bill Clinton with his saxophone and danced around it, all Lord of the Flies-style (speaking of which, did you know that someone’s adapted the novel for the stage? yikes). Made me feel slightly better about my weekend shenanigans, which, while still leaving me baffled at the fact that I am able to walk and talk today, don’t even begin to measure up.