Revving Up The Chipper

On Saturday night I tried to recapture the spirit and thunder of my younger years. Went and saw a solid concert at a small but hip venue (Asobi Sesku was the band, and we caught them at the Rock & Roll Hotel). It was a band I had never heard before but I went ahead and trusted Kelly's opinion that they were good. And, luckily to his credit, they were. I would have had to thrash him otherwise.

The part about reaching back to my younger years was that I drank a bit and also stayed out way past my bedtime. And I didn't have the wife with me, so really it was like a whole new man. More my alter ego, The Campbler (who likes to gamble, drink a lot, talk sports and reel off curse words in public), and less Campbell (devoted husband extraordinaire, faithful employee and generally sweet guy). My normal self did wisely kick in just in time to stop myself from buying the dreaded 3 a.m. greasy pizza slice from the dirthole joint in Adams Morgan.

You see, whenever you mix all these things together, or have a bad case of food poisoning, have way too much to drink, do shots of Sambuca or get punched in the gut by The Blob, chances are you will turn on, as I lovingly call it, The Chipper. Because to hurl with such force does sound like a wood chipper, as evidenced here. I won't get into too many more details, other than to take a moment and honor the best chipper moment in film.

Needless to say, I survived the night. Things didn't go so well over at casa de Kelly. The Chipper was in full force over there, word has it. I'm telling you ... it was the pizza. Stay away from that pizza, people. It's disaster.