Into the Slipstream: Your Halloween Hangover Cure
You’re probably reading this, babies, with a head full of fuzz and the smell of cigarettes and the leftover stains, taste of odd alcoholic concoctions, and backroom make out sessions with the person dressed as Sexy Hillary Clinton. Fear not children; for this edition of Into the Slipstream, your musical savior, Steve Foxx, has stirred up some sweet, sweet relief that’s going to make your new November shine. One part awesome, two parts leftover margarita, three parts mellow, I bring you “Steve Foxx’s AM Gold Halloween Hangover For-Sure Cure.”
Phase one: You’re rolling over and in need of a reminder that last night’s insanity was only a temporary thing. So let’s get the two-eggs-easy, thick-crispy-bacon, and a-fruit-smoothie morning started with 10cc’s “I’m Not in Love.” Alright, scratch everything but the smoothie and a glass of water. Back to the British dandies, who would later become Godley and Cream. 10cc struck a nerve in February 1975 with this #2 Billboard single. If you flip the 7″ over, you’ll catch “Good News” on the B-side and feel even better.
Okay, okay. 10cc didn’t quite get you into the drift of the day. You need a light, boozy, iced-infused beverage to take the edge off the groggy, other-worldly feeling. Before you get into a groove, make this:
Ultimate Mudslide (1.5 oz Vodka, 1.5 oz Irish cream,1.5oz coffee liqueur, 8 ice cubes, 1.5 oz cream, 1 scoop vanilla ice cream, 2 scoops chocolate ice cream,1 banana)
Now take a listen to California in a song. Warm Malibu mornings with Bob Welch and “Sentimental Lady.” Technically, it’s Welch working with a mid incarnation of Fleetwood Mac, but it’s Welch’s melodies and lyrics. “And all of the things that I said that I wanted/Come rushing by in my head when I’m with you/14 joys and a will to be merry/And all of the things that they say are very,” muses Welch. Ahhhh, if that combo doesn’t get you into a better headspace, you’ve had one helluva night.
It comes in waves, I understand. Breath into a bag. Don’t look in the mirror this morning — for God’s sake, don’t look in the mirror! You’ll turn to the toilet, and then it’ll be a bad scene, children.
Instead, grab the ice pack that you put in the freezer last night before you left for the party. It’s towards the back behind the pizza rolls. You really shouldn’t be eating pizza rolls, ya know. It’s not there? Nothing. You forgot it, didn’t you? You forgot the golden rule of take two ibuprofen, drink a pint of water, and make sure the ice pack is in the freezer before you pass out. Whatever. There’s nothing we can do about lost chances to sober up. Alright, let’s do the next best thing. Stick your head in the freezer for 30 seconds. Really. It’ll help. And while you breathe in the chilled, freon-laced fumes that are going to clear your head, know for a fact that Steve Foxx loves you, and like Orleans says, you’re “Still the One.”
Before the American Broadcasting Company paid a crapton of money to the band — or the record company anyway –“Still the One” was making people feel good as it climbed the charts as a late-summer jam is bound to do, during our glorious, national bicentennial. Why Orleans posed naked (or at least shirtless) on the cover is not known. The jam is pretty damn fun, and this will make you get your head out of the freezer.
You’re feeling a little better now, aren’t you? Your phone buzzed. Yes, check the phone, because you just got invited to go to brunch. From the person you were making out with last night, from the looks of the selfies they sent over. You actually took post-make out selfies. Yes you did, and yes, you gave them your number. I understand this was right after the tequila bombs and that you both stumbled over the shit-faced guy in a bunny suit in the hall. He was screaming about you being the new person, and he wasn’t going to kill you because he liked you — a lot. And then you macked with this person hard. And gave them your number. What the hell, trooper, it’s a new day, go freshen up. As you’re washing off the filth off from the party, try to pick out details from your addled brain with Dr. Hook. You didn’t take the sloppy make out person home, but you can still think fondly of them as you try to remember their name listening to “Sharing the Night Together.”
Those soft-jamming masters from Union City, New Jersey, take you along for the ride as the glitter from your costume finally washes down the drain.
Decent day clothes. Nausea subsiding. Catch your LYFT to the brunch place and try to remember their face as you order a mimosa and more starch plus grease. Here they come. Oh look, they ain’t so bad lookin’ after all.
Good job, kid. You got this.
Until next time, children.
