25.4 – Mellow Marin Madness

The Jolly Roger “Marin Issue” was very popular on campus when it came out.  Marty made several contributions that distracted him somewhat from his doldrums.  The paper covered the entire spectrum of life in Marin County: from its astonishing natural beauty, to the ridiculous behavior of many of its residents.  In the San Geronimo Valley there was much more of the former and thankfully less of the latter.  The cultish pursuit of excessive luxury was mostly relegated to super-wealthy communities like Mill Valley, Belvedere, and Sausalito that were “over the hill.”  In fact, you could drive the entirety of Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, starting at the lighthouse in Point Reyes and following the crumpled rolling hills across great tectonic plates, as if it was a journey through capitalism run amok.  The gray ribbon of highway traversed the San Andreas Fault, where it left the Pacific Plate and crossed over to the North American Plate.  At that point, the road was offset by several yards because the land is inching north, and bound to deliver Los Angeles to their doorstep in a few million years.  From there, you’d follow the old stage route as it continued over the Bolinas Ridge into the Valley; then onward to Fairfax and through San Anselmo.  In that area the prices of homes began to rise; the way the temperature increases as a probe gets closer to the sun.  Signs of privilege and extravagance were everywhere.  Supercilious Mercedes and BMW automobiles crowded at the traffic lights, impatiently trying to get around your ordinariness.  The exhausted old road concluded at the shore of the San Pablo Bay next to San Quentin prison, so from one end to another it served as an allegory of humanity’s fall from grace… across an earthquake fault, no less.  Conversely, if you traveled in the other direction, you might return to the simpler life in a natural paradise.  Most of Marin was headed in the direction of the prison.

 

As a rite of spring, Annie was organizing a surprise kegger party at the Rusty Bucket Ranch for Mike’s birthday, to celebrate his imminent graduation from high school and help him feel better about himself.  He was still massively depressed about wrecking his car and his face, but was going through the motions at school and work.  His goal was to save enough money to get another car, but bills and partying burned up most of his income.  Since the accident he had built a rugged wall around himself; becoming more stoic and less communicative than ever.  Marty suggested to Annie that hosting another drinking party wasn’t likely to erase the tragedy of drunk driving, but she had her mind set on it, and when she wanted something the most sensible thing was to get out of her way.  The hard part was keeping it a secret from Mike.  There could be no party without guests, and telling a teenager about a kegger party was more effective than advertising in a commercial during the Super Bowl.  Everyone at Drake was talking about it on Friday, but Mike went to another campus for his classes, so maybe she could pull off the surprise… but it was doubtful.  Marty invited Michelle out of good manners, giving her a detailed map to his house and telling her to bring some of her friends, but he really didn’t expect her to show up.  Her crowd rarely dared to venture into bleacher creature territory.

 

Saturday was a beautiful spring day in the redwoods – the kind of day that makes you glad to be alive.  The budding green of the forest was finally overcoming the drab, brown sludge left over from the winter flood.  Neon green extensions appeared at the end of the redwood needles, and a few small bushes bravely blossomed.  The whole canyon was thoroughly cleansed, with a fresh supply of minerals distributed everywhere by the silted waters.  The White tribe prepared for the party by placing boxes and garbage cans in obvious places, in the vain hope that they might be used to discard an empty or two.  When party people got drunk they threw away beer cans wherever they were, the way goats drop turds.  They also discarded heaps of cigarette butts, so it was a good thing that the forest was still damp and fire resistant.  Annie said she told everyone to bring a designated driver, or plan on sleeping over, so the house was likely to become a drunk tank for the night.  They moved the fragile items to the shed, which had been cleaned up and somewhat dried out since the flood.  Furniture got covered with plastic or blankets.  Valuables were safely hidden away, and all the food packed in boxes.  They prepared for the deluge of party people the way they should have prepared for the rising creek the past winter.

 

Mike knew all day there was going to be a party, but he acted surprised at the right moment in order to please Annie for about fifteen seconds, which he claimed was a new personal best.  Dennis was old enough to buy beer now, and he showed up early with a couple of kegs in tubs of ice, stowed in the hold of the Enterprise.  True to form, Boobers, Bobby Brew, and Derek followed him the way dogs track barbecue ribs at a picnic.  They arrived in Boobers’ new car, a Dodge Dart that Fred fixed up from the junkyard.  It still hadn’t been given a name, but Marty was suggesting Pioneer.  Boobers didn’t like that, however, because it evoked a sedentary image of covered wagons.  Marty explained it was the name of an interstellar probe: an adventurer in the mystery of space, but Boobers still wasn’t convinced, so his ride remained unnamed.  The usual gang of hardcore partiers arrived, including Rob, Dave, and Terry.  Bart showed up with his older brother Matt to wish Paul a happy birthday, but they were still affected by what happened to their little brother, Tom, and it understandably diminished their party spirit.  The kegs were set up on the deck and tapped as other guests started to arrive.  Mike was already wasted from the many combustible birthday gifts that had been bestowed upon him all day.  He sat on the deck near the kegs like a stoned Santa Claus at a department store, and all the kiddies lined up and smoked a bowl with him so they wouldn’t be on the naughty list.  His eyes were so red they appeared to be bleeding.  It wasn’t even dark yet, and the party was already kicking into gear.  A parade of cars unloaded cargoes of giggling girls in the driveway, and soon Annie’s friends had taken over the place.  Nearly all the regulars from the bleachers were there, along with several Marty didn’t know.  Susie’s freshman friends showed up, too, and they looked suitably awestruck to be attending a senior kegger party at the Rusty Bucket Ranch.  Several of them were rather attractive, and Marty considered the prospects of following Steven Stills’ advice to “love the one you’re with.”  He desperately needed an alternative target for his affections.

 

Unfortunately, three of Marty’s past crushes were also at the party, which hampered his romantic possibilities considerably.  Alicia arrived with Sandy and Val, because they all lived in Forest Knolls.  Annie’s best friend April was in another car with Christine, his erstwhile love interest for two days a couple of springs ago.  It was daunting to see so many reminders of wasted affection, the way a farmer might have to clear away failed crops to try again, even as the drought gets worse.  Besides, it would be embarrassing to have one of them see him flirting with another girl, when they might think he was trying to show them up or make them jealous.  Marty’s brain could come up with so many twisted romantic scenarios, he should have been a writer of soap operas.  He decided to get drunk instead.  There was an abundance of Heineken, he didn’t have to go anywhere, and he just didn’t give a shit anymore.

 

There are layers of inebriation at a kegger party, just as the forms of life change deeper in the ocean.  Floating on the surface were the casual partygoers, who chatted and socialized with a beer in their hand – essentially used as a prop.  They might sip it from time to time as a gesture, but they hardly felt the effects.  Next came the average party people, cruising through the evening on a carefully lubricated course, maintaining a controlled level of being under the influence.  Beneath that were the dedicated party animals, who staggered around the Quarters table, belched loudly, and took off their shirts.  That level was usually dominated by Rob and the other football players.  Females rarely ventured to the animal level, except at Reggae concerts and biker festivals.  In the deepest abyss of the ocean dwelt the bottom feeders and other strange forms of life who stayed near the keg and slowly transfused their blood with alcohol.  That was where Marty found Bobby Brew, and even though he’d reached the sea bottom at that point, his night sunk even deeper into the depths from there.

 

The usual patterns of a teenage kegger party repeated as the evening went on, with a few notable exceptions.  The younger girls formed a herd and spent most of their time in the bathroom, according to custom.  Marty was in the kitchen when they emerged from the narrow door, blinking and adjusting their makeup and hair.  It defied the laws of physics to see how many of them could fit inside the tiny washroom.  It was like watching clowns with painted faces pour out of a miniature car at the circus.  As usual, they huddled together for protection, and scurried past the leering would-be studs at the Quarters table.  Rob had his shirt off already, and was using it to wipe up a puddle of beer that spilled under the table, hoping Marge wouldn’t see.  She was out on the deck with Mike, who had already lost his power of speech, and could only raise his eyebrows when spoken to.  Annie was giving him sips of water as she would to a baby in a high chair.  Alicia and Val were chatting animatedly on the couch, where Boobers and his brothers were constructing a huge joint on the coffee table with an oversized rolling paper.  They got this useful item from Cheech & Chong’s Big Bambu album, which they had given Mike for his birthday.  Sandy was poring over the books piled on the shelves in the corner, and Christine chain-smoked uncomfortably on a stool.  Bart and Matt slouched in a corner, forlornly sipping on Pepsis and failing in their attempts to appear festive.  Marty imagined that the memory of the last kegger party was heavy on their minds, and he said a silent prayer for Tom and Randy.

 

Everywhere in his peripheral vision were pretty girls, with their hair and makeup primped for maximum effect.  Marty rated the ones he didn’t know on a scale of 1 to 10 in attractiveness.  The more he hung around with Bobby Brew, the more 10s he noticed.  He had lost count of the number of beers he chugged, but kept track of the whereabouts of nubile nymphs at the party with the skill of an air traffic controller.  The current fashion was to wear high-waisted pants that hugged the buttocks, and curved around the hips to accentuate what Marty had been missing in his life.  Blouses and halter tops were usually tied together above the navel, and those who had cleavage made sure to feature it beneath a pukka shell necklace.  Marty rationalized that if they were gonna display it so obviously, it must be okay to look.  He could never figure out why females tried so hard to make themselves irresistibly attractive, and then shied away when their advertisement produced the intended effect.  It was so tantalizing, like a commercial for a sexy car that made you desire to possess it, but then you found it was locked inside the showroom.  Instead, Marty enthusiastically admired the contours of the most attractive young ladies (in a purely artistic sense, of course), but his personal tastes leaned towards the ones who dressed more casually, like Alicia and Val.  The fluffy cheerleader types strutting across the tilted floor reminded him too much of Michelle.  He was even hallucinating now, as if she was in his house!

 

Omigod!  He lurched drunkenly, and spilled his beer – it really was Michelle – standing at the door and looking terribly out of place in her expensive clothes!  She and her friend Tish had actually come to the party, along with Tiffany and Dolores from the upper class of Drake society, and they all looked pale and shocked, as if four ladies from a church social had been dropped into the middle of the Monsters of Rock concert.  A hearty roar greeted them from the Quarters table, as Rob chugged a huge mug of beer and belched a spray of suds on his opponents.  AC/DC was blasting “We’ve Got Big Balls” on the stereo, and someone screamed an obscenity from the kitchen with a crescendo of smashing beer bottles.  Dave staggered and fell into the stereo, and the music stopped abruptly.  In the sudden silence, the chic landing party that had beamed down from the planet Vogue had the incongruity of four deliciously decorated cupcakes presented on a silver platter at a mud wrestling match.  Tish was uncomfortably trying to wipe the mud off her high heeled Italian shoes, as the timid, fashionable squad of cheerleaders circled their wagons for protection.  Derek – ever the gentleman – was the first to approach the disoriented Spirit Sparkers, hoping to make them feel welcome by offering them the huge spleef that was being passed around.  It was all brown and sticky from the resin, and they recoiled from it in horror, as if it was a flaming turd on a stick.  Marty teetered on the edge of disbelief, but through his inebriated fog, he realized he had to do something… and quickly.

 

Dave restarted the music, and Marty pushed and weaved his way through the swaying crowd in the main room until Michelle saw him, and her face brightened with relief by the time he reached her.  His heart was pounding in anxiety for what her reaction must be to the crazy scene inside the backwoods version of Animal House.  She had a pretty little gift for Mike, daintily wrapped with a bow, and was wearing tight polyester slacks, and a soft cashmere sweater that showed off her magnificent body.  By now, every male in the house had crowded into the main room to ogle the “fresh meat,” and covetous eyes followed every move, as Michelle gave Marty a careful little hug, and put her lips deliciously close to his ear to be heard above the music, shouting “Where’s Mike?”  Marty, the tipsy host, somehow suppressed his baser urges, recovered his sense of decorum, and escorted the nervous delegation from the Glee Club out to the deck, where the music wasn’t quite so loud.  Michelle clung to Marty’s arm with enthusiasm, intimating how much she loved his “cute little cabin.”  He presented the Four Mouseketeers to the Birthday Boy on his throne, who by that time was left with only one working eyebrow.  Marty bowed clumsily and slurred, “Welcome to the Rusty Bucket Ranch.”

 

Mike’s eyelids came unglued when presented with the unexpected emissaries of Drake’s finest breeding stock, who had come to pay him homage.  His red-rimmed eyes were bloodshot and frighteningly livid, like pools of lava, and he nearly fell over trying to get out of his chair.  “Oh, don’t bother to get up,” Michelle cooed, “We just came by to wish you a happy birthday, and give you some cologne.”  The irony of offering fragrance to a man who had recently thrown up on himself was too comical for words, and Marty laughed in spite of himself.  Just then Rob pushed his way intentionally through the group so he could grope on Tiffany and Dolores, who wriggled and squealed in protest as he laughed like a demon, and staggered off the end of the deck to pee in the bushes.

 

“We have to get going,” Michelle explained to Marty apologetically, as her friends were adjusting their clothes with growing concern for their safety, “I’ll see you at school, okay?”  She could tell he was wasted, and spoke to him slowly as if he was a young child.  Marty stretched his lips in a sheepish smile, and hoped she would tuck him into bed, too.

 

Through his beer-soaked brain, he realized that he was expected to say something gracious in farewell, so he waved his hand drunkenly at the trees all around the deck – their branches lit up by the few Christmas lights that still worked – and boasted, “This place looks a lot better in the daytime (burp), you should come out for a hike.”

 

“Thank you, I’d like that!  Bye”  Marty was surprised that she agreed, and struggled mightily to arrange another cohesive sentence in his head, but the four ambassadors of feminine excellence turned in unison as if performing a drill, and marched primly up to the driveway.  Fifty pairs of hungry male eyes followed them up the path, as the curvy young morsels exchanged nervous laughter and words of astonishment, until they were swallowed up by the dark night.

 

“Did that really just happen?” Marty asked Bobby Brew, who was calmly filling his cup while he stood there with his mouth open.

 

“She shed she’d go on a (burp) hike with me,” Marty gushed.

 

“You definitely need a beer.”

 

Rob scrambled wildly back up on the deck, with redwood needles in his hair, huffing like a bull buck in musk, “Where’d those babes go?”  The whole party was buzzing about the ethereal vision, as if the house had been visited by aliens.  Dudes paced about restlessly, making hyperbolic gestures to describe what they would have done if the Playboy Bunnies had stayed a bit longer.  Bleacher babes gossiped behind their hands, and the entire herd of freshmen girls stampeded back into the bathroom to check their makeup – no doubt intimidated by the sudden appearance of the alpha vixens.  As Marty made the rounds, he could sense the looks of admiration from others, who had all noticed he was the only one who made actual contact with any of the extraterrestrials.  The prettiest girl in school gave him a hug in front of everyone!  At the Rusty Bucket Ranch!  He would have been walking on air if he could do it in a straight line.

 

Dennis and Boobers came up to congratulate him.  “Dude, I can’t believe she showed up!  That was hilarious!”  They slapped him on his back lustily.  Dennis inquired loudly, “Are you banging on that?”  Marty politely informed him Michelle wasn’t that type of girl, and Dennis threw back his head in mock despair, lamenting the “terrible waste of a nice ass.”  Boobers told him to knock it off, informing him Marty was really sweet on her, and he apologized.  The noble yet ineffectual Don Juan shrugged drunkenly, and left them shaking their heads in sympathy.  Their shouted exchange was heard by many, including Alicia and Val, so the entire school would know by Monday morning that Marty was desperate to get laid.