A writer, reloaded

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.

Forget Fudgie. I got the M&M for my birthday! Please note, the indents are neither bullet holes nor zits, but in fact the remnants of candle infestation.

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.

Growing up, the parents burned two crucial lessons upon my psyche. One, if something broke in the house, unless the neighborhood kids squirted our dog with LSD through slats in the fence again, whatever wreckage they discovered inside the place was certainly my fault–so start apologizing.

Even more important though, was the lesson I’m most grateful for: Never, never, never, ever pay retail.

See, present economic conditions are really no different for me now than when I was six. Back then I hated spending money. I hate spending money now. Whenever I have to part ways with a dollar, my ears ring. Don’t ask to borrow any from me, either. The answer is no–in any denomination. I’m a real savage like that.

But while I can’t avoid exchanging some of my precious bio-survival tickets for goods and services–some of which are necessary ( like skin moisturizer for Oedipus”s paws ), others are more indulgent ( like vodka that tastes less like the runoff from a train platform ) the bottom line for me is the bottom line. That is to say, the actual cost is what matters most when deciding between products.

Which brings me to one of my favorite tricks for grabbing meals on the run while spending the absolute minimum of hard-earned ducats.

Fast food. Generally speaking fast food is cheap. By design it has to be, since it’s usually little more than sodium glutameted coated cardboard. For a moment, let’s gaze beyond the obvious health hazards, because my technique can also help reduce the physical toll of eating fat-laden fare while saving a few bucks. Two for one. Huzzah.

All three mass-market burger chains offer value meals. These cleverly packaged deals promise a quick meal at a fair price are a sort of false advertising. Even the cheapest value meal clocks near six bucks ( USD ). Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick! What if you don’t feel like a Rockefeller at that moment? Say a bit proletariat, maybe. Or like a refugee of love.

Enter the dollar menu. Consider the McDouble and the four piece McNuggets. Not in the same sitting, mind you. Separately. Even in New Jersey, a McDouble after taxes is $1.07. And the stack of tiny cheeseburgers, ketchup, pickles and onions are very close to the recommended calorie count for a modest meal, roughly 500. For approximately 1/2 the cost of a gallon of gas, stuff your face and feel good about spending less while minding the waistline.

Better yet, the technique scales. Let’s just say you are out with the significant other and the nosh bug starts claiming appendages. Double up on the dollar menu, each ordering an item. Need fries and a drink? Split a Happy Meal and a dollar menu offering. If one party insists on larger portions, order one value meal ( regular sized fries and drink ) and one dollar menu item. Kapow! A family of two eats for seven bucks. Maybe less, even.

NOTE: The first rule of being frugal is to make loved ones aware of your cheapness. This passion must flow through everything you do. Like the Force. It can not be an unexpected game-changing surprise. Better to make it known early on in the relationship you cut corners when spending. Stopping in for a quick bite after a day of fun together is not the time to announce: “Baby, you can get whatever you want, as long as it’s a single serving from column B.”

That kind of strategy gonna get your game shut down way before Valentine’s Day.

By accident, stumbled across one of the most innovative and environmentally sound gifts of the twenty-first century, courtesy of the Internets.

This Valentine Day, why settle for flowers and chocolate, when a truly unique gift is available? Why, indeed.

More stylish than a BMW M6, a gift like this really says a lot about your true sentiments for a loved one. Live at the cutting edge of eco-sculpture for slightly more than the cost of a Godiva chocolate bar, and less than three hits of crack. Show your green friends how much you care.

Behold the dung bunny.

And yes, all Dung products are fashioned from 100% crap. Can’t get any more organic than that. Personally, I am ordering a Dung Snail for each of my previous bosses.

Two for my last one.