The best ideas

Whenever more than a week passes between posts, often a reader provides a nudge via a site suggestion. In the case of this entry, the source is George.

First though, thanks to everyone for the birthday cards, emails and phone calls wishing me well. Sweet vibes are always welcome. I also want to mention something else.

A medical scare in the family brought a lot of perspective these past few weeks. The good news: the person is doing well and on track for a full recovery. I just wanted to mention that, because if you are thinking any kind thoughts towards me for whatever reason, re-focus it towards them. Trust me, they need it. My thanks in advance.

And now to the anecdote that dovetails with the opener.

In grammar school, an English teacher asked for a description of our twenty-year class reunion. The scenarios were consistent with the imagination and level of the writing of most children that age: relatively muted. They were so bland, only one has stayed with me through the years.

Mary ( last name redacted by Sam ). Ms. Mary not only strung together a tight narrative of the possible events, she made every forecast fun for the audience. The class laughed from start to finish. Just brilliant.

Here’s the future she envisioned out for me:

“There’s Sam Hilliard near the bar. Sam who had the largest vocabulary of any of us back then, now has the smallest. In fact, it consists of only two words. Rum and vodka.”

At the time I laughed. Some supporters might brand Mary a meanie, but she proved right–in part. I had the biggest vocabulary of the class. Only it can’t be the smallest now, because my lexicon includes rum, vodka and wine.

See, experience has taught me there are many stages of drinking. Ten or so. Eleven when counting the sidewalks outside a liquor store.

This entry is really for the guy on the sidewalk who is banned from the trailer park. Vagrants. Bums. When drinking becomes less about the lifestyle, and all about getting lit enough to blot out the smell of one’s urine soaked clothes, one just might have a problem. For starters, one probably needs fortified wine, and one needs many bottles of it now!

So when you want to catch a king sized buzz on a Happy Meal sized budget, bumwine.com has all the details. And all the usual suspects. Cisco. Maddog 20/20. Thunderbird. Catch a ride on the Night Train. Choo-choo! Learn where to find some of the finest low-rent vintages in the country.

Values like these literally begs for a celebration in their honor. Just begs for it.

In which a pill gives worms to your ex-girlfriend

The birthday fairy brought me these:

Yep, the litter mates are still close after twelve years. February 13th is almost the cats actual birthday, so in a way we celebrate all together. As for my age, that’s classified.

What I will discuss: The Poet’s parents threw me a pizza party at their house. Beside a bad-ass surround sound system and DVD player–yes, Virginia after 14 years living on my own, time for a TV–Guinness flowed in my honor. Plus an authentic Irish Rugby T-shirt that fits me perfectly. Mmm. And a special cake. A giant yellow M&M ice cream cake.

Fuck Fudgie the Whale. I carved up the yellow M&M like a ham on Easter. Except everyone wanted to eat my yellow friend.

Slowly I’m turning Irish. Regrets to Mom and Dad, but it’s just more fun this way.

Fringe benefits

Clear signs your’re in a relationship with a writer:

INT. Bedroom – NIGHT

While staring at the same sentence for the last hour on a laptop, a cellphone RINGS. Writer Guy answers it, noting that Caller ID DISPLAYS his girlfriend, THE POET’S phone number.

The Poet: What’s the word for using the first initial of a group of words. Like NEC instead of New England College.

Writer Guy: Acronym?

The Poet: That’s it! It was on the tip of my tongue.

Writer Guy: That’s called aphasia.

Silence.

Writer Guy: Are you writing?

The Poet: Yep. Gotta go. Bye!

Interestingly enough, this led to my own case of aphasia. I can’t come up with a word that really captures the exchange. Must be contagious.