TV On The Radio – Will Do (Mylo Remix)
So here’s my secret: I like to drive drunk. Very little exhilarates me as much as taking Maggie for a spin while buzzed.
Not cars, mind. That’s dangerous. There’s something about two-wheeled vehicles – an inability to injure others, for a start – that justifies it in my mind.
It started back in college, I think. A girl named Teagan started working during my shifts at the media library. Aside from rushes at 4pm and 7pm, we had nothing to do, so we would trade off sharing music. “The only reason I dated Michael was because he played me Daft Punk the first time we hung out,” she said, and hit play. “He was a douche.” The white tights she wore drove me wild. Rhey, my roommate, bonded with her because they both saw a therapist and used to grind their teeth in their sleep. I’ve never met a girl so outgoing.
After playing hooky from shift to attend a Ron Paul rally together, we started hanging out outside of work. I’d pedal my bike down to her place on Thursday nights to watch new episodes of The Office. We’d buy a six-pack or two. “You fuckin’ pussy,” she’d say. “You can’t break the seal after the second beer.” I’d hang my head. Then we’d watch the episode and laugh and laugh and I’d barely remember it the next day.
Every night I’d ride my bike home drunk. “Whatever,” she’d say, still seated, as I waved goodbye and stepped out the front door to unchain my bike from her fence.
At first I was astonished: I could stay balanced inebriated! And I didn’t clip any of the pedestrians milling around our college town! Soon it became routine for me to ride my bike, no matter the situation: drunk, three feet of snow, whatever – I was pedaling away, huffing and puffing to the townhouse that sheltered my belongings a few minutes out of town.
That was when I realized being drunk doesn’t automatically mean you’ll crash. Now that I use Maggie, a 2004 Suzuki, to get around, it’s taken a step up in speed. Driving drunk on a motored bike is all Whoosh, Zoom, Whirr. I feel like I’m in in Tron – the lights are all elongated and streaks. Whoosh! The engine purrs and I can feel it vibrating in my rib cage. Zoom!
At some point my kid will read this and admonish me. Until then, well, fuck yeah, this is the best thing fucking ever. [Chemical Peels.]
Love the song, and the post, and the gif. So been there. I justify it in that if I swerve while biking tipsy, my bike is only going to go half a foot in either direction so most motorists wouldn’t even notice.
It’s so much more exhilarating to hop on a bike then collapse into a cab. And usually this state occurs deep into the night, when there are few cars. It’s mostly just asphalt and sky of the same color and the wind rushing past you. A fantastic feeling.