Anyone reading this blog knows I gave up the sauce some time ago. My sobriety will be 13 years long on June 22 if I don’t drink and I don’t die. I thank God for my sobriety and consider it a gift — a gift of family, friends, financial well being, spiritual well being, all the things that make my life worth living.
Nevertheless, here’s a list of 40 Things Every Drunkard Should Do Before He Dies from Modern Drunkard Magazine. I must say that this is a list of which I approve. If you are going to do something, do it well. I have a personal favorite that I would put on the list, and that is that I once tore out the yellow pages for Taverns and went to all of them alphabetically from A to P. I have been places you wouldn’t believe, I guarantee.
My son and I have a certain penchant for a kind of old school manners and value of the best (not always the most expensive). We like nice pens and calling cards and thank you notes and such. We both believe in personal style. I like my son, quite apart from being his father — he’s the kind of guy I like to hang around because he’s funny and smart. I think he would approve of the list, if declining to try to live up to any cheap magazine’s crude tongue-in-cheek list himself. I’ve done a good bit of the 40, although far from them all. I don’t even want to know Jack’s score.
My daughter, Rebecca, on the other hand, no doubt sees such a list as utter foolishness and has no admiration for drunkards. She’s far too practical to see the romance of such a list. Thank God. Women like my daughter actually have to grow up and be sensible once they’ve had a couple of my grandchildren. It’s an unfortunate requirement, but there it is.
Jack and I are unencumbered by such reasonable obstacles because, as everyone knows, men grow older but not up.
Speaking of silly rules, today is the first day of summer and all and I just got my white silk pants from the cleaners and I’m going to dress in the way that my friend The Gary calls “A guy in search of a marina.”
Blogblah
It’s true. I’m entirely too pragmatic for most tomfoolery. That’s less of a statement of my gender than it is of my personality as not all men fail to mature.
That being said, you should know that over the years I have funded quite a bit of formal and informal research on honky tonks as an important part of Americana and a place for social gathering. It’s not the bar that is frivolous, it’s the booze (costs $$, fails at hydration, tastes like crap, causes loss of control, invites cops, leads to aggression, screws up your morning after). A local bar is usually the best place in town for french fries. You know how I loves me some fries. Plus, DDs drink free. FREE!
It’s entirely possible that such lists, as lists tend to be, are quite pragmatic.
Today was an excellent day with only two exceptions.
I discovered that one of my socks had a hole in it. So I removed my other shoe (which is rather easy since I only wear loafers that I always buy at JC Pennys when they are on sale about every year or so). To my surprise, the other sock did not have a hole in it. After pondering on this mystery for a few minutes, it dawned on me that the socks I was wearing must be mismatched. I walked outside (which is not all that far from my office which is in the corner of a dark room in the basement of a three story building built in 1986) and studied my socks in the bright sunlight. Sure enough, although both black socks (I always wear black socks that I always buy at JC Pennys when they are on sale about every year or so), I could clearly see the difference in the fabric weave. Rather than depending on my memory, I made a note to myself to discard the defective garment and try to locate the brother of the pristine item.
The other exception was, I shit my pants.
Clothing & Politics
I just can’t seem to stop myself now that I’ve found this fab blog where I can share my thoughts and feelings.
Summer has finally arrived. Not sure about you, but I am not all that fond of the heat. But it does give me an opportunity to wear my white loafers (sans socks, of course) and seersucker apparel which the ladies seem to always HAVE to touch. Yesterday I think I saw five men (or maybe oafs is a better term) wearing sleeveless, plaid shirts. You know, Larry The Cable Guy wannabes. I detest plaid. Don’t those people realize that plaid does nothing to accent your appearance? The only plaid garments I own are boxer shorts – and I only wear those for when the ladies come over, that’s right, all you lonesome gals out there that come over to ride this bull. You can bet I will save them for your eyes only, as I know how much you enjoy wearing “The Man’s Plaid Boxers”, at least that’s what Abercrombie & Fitch are selling us even though I buy mine at Wal-Mart. You’d never know ’cause this bull’s made for ridin’, not surveyin.
Someone must tell me why the news media seem to always be discussing Obama’s fund raising efforts. I have not heard nor read one word about McCain’s. I wonder if Obama’s 20 plus million he has raised includes my $2,500 that I paid him to dine in my company when he was in Nashville? Surprised? Well, consider my presence like that of an “enemy in the camp” if you will. Now everyone is speculating if iconoclast Ron Paul will be endorsing anyone. Please forgive me, but who gives a rat’s ass? Please, let’s just concentrate on the left and the right. The middle makes me nauseas. Ron is so much in the middle one could easily mistake him for an asshole. Oh, did I say “asshole”? Why yes I did. Forgive me Mr. Paul, it was just a figure of speech.
I am, I’m sure you know by now, a southern gentleman. My father used to ramrod the Senah Plantation near the center of Tennessee. Of course “Senah” is “Haynes” spelled backwards (Haynes Underwear) and that plantation was the source of my eventual inheritance. Oh I occasional market my wares (I am by practice a certified private eye, formally a lawyer but was disbarred due to fraternization with a client – unfortunately, that client was the client of the defense lawyer and I was at the time the asst DA) but my normal day is feeding off the hog so to speak (don’t tell my mother I called her a hog, HeeHee). I thank you for allowing me to join your blog. Maybe I should have my own?
Gotta sign off now folks. Hey what is with all the HeeHee on this blog? Everyone think they’re funny? Well, I’ll be damned if I haven’t found the right old folk’s home for me cause that is just how I think of myself, downright funny. Research says that most blog readers of politics are over the age of 63. Yeah, this is a nice right fit, right here. HeeHee….
Happy Anniversary!!!