With the work week done, it was time to do a 180. Take away all thoughts of reports and bosses and co-workers and managing expectations and those glowing computer screens. It was time to get away from the week.

It was officially the weekend, and it was time to rock n' roll.

My roommate and I (he's the bassist, I'm the drummer) showed up at our guitarist's house with a bottle of Jim Beam and Coke. It was band practice time. After a short discussion, we got down to business. Solidifying a couple of songs (incorporating new changes, polishing strange transitions, playing really loud rock and roll), we "worked" at our musical hobby for a couple of hours.

Throughout the practice, we managed to finish the bottle of Beam. Beam and Coke has become the official drink of the band. It gives the whiskey wideness and the stimulating caffeine of Coke. By the time practice was over, we were excited. Progress had taken place, and we felt good. We were rock n' roll.

Something I'd kind of forgotten about drumming since I was 20 (the last time I worked seriously as a drummer in a band) is the injuries. I should remember, y'know. I have scars all over my hands and fingers from hitting drum rims, blisters, calluses and the like. I've grown some of these back in the last couple of months. On Friday night, I played so hard I formed and ripped open a large blister on my left pinkie before I even realized it was there. War scars are sexy.

That was supposed to be that. Our rock n' roll night had progressed as long as anticipated, and we were in the middle of decompression when another friend (who is in a couple of bands and had a gig earlier in the evening) got home. He wanted to rock n' roll, too.

We acquiesced ("as long as you drive, man") and headed downtown.

On a mission, our friend barreled down some alleys (with the Beam and Coke flying through my veins, it seemed like we were really flying down Death Star trenches) and came out near the rock and roll bar (the Launchpad). Our friend executed a perfect parallel parking job, and we rolled into the bar.

Beer became the drink of choice, and we spread out, examining the situation. A Beastie Boys-like group was rhyming about hooking up with the ladies. We were meeting and greeting. It was a CD release party for a local band (Jet Black Summer), and the crowd was a good Friday night congregation.

It seems like I met a few people, shook hands, had choice words--but names and actual conversations escape me. This was, of course, after a third of a Jim Beam bottle and into beer.

I played good guy to a friend's slightly confrontational mood. I watched as men insulted each other's hairlines and dick sizes. Glasses broke, postures were taken, but nothing horrible happened. No punches were exchanged.

It was suddenly almost two in the morning and time to evacuate the bar. The acceleration of time that occurs during a night of heavy drinking is an interesting phenomenon. At work, an hour can be an eternity. Sometimes it takes a few hours for a real hour to go by. As the night goes on, hours can pass in fifteen minutes or less.

The after party was a few blocks away from the bar. Michael Jackson's Thriller was playing on the stereo (vinyl, of course--we were among the cool rock n' rollers), cheap beer was in the fridge and girls were trying to figure out which of the guys were worth their time.

Again, I met a few people, shook hands, had conversations--who these people were, I couldn't tell you. I do remember one girl wearing a t-shirt with "Sweet" printed across her breasts. It was all I could do to resist yelling out "Sweet!" every time I saw her.

Eventually the rule of diminishing returns reared its ugly head, and we all departed the rock n' roller party for home.

It was nearly four in the morning. The sun would be coming up in a couple of hours. The rock and roll Friday night was over. Later on Saturday, my roommate would puke up the night. This lead him to announce he had, indeed, partied till he puked.

All in the name of rock n' roll, my friends.

Matt Worley did not have a rock n' roll Saturday night. It was more like rest n' recovery.