Monday, November 15, 2010

Proof That Nothing Good Happens After Midnight

Egad... It's going on 4:00 AM.

What's a wide-awake fella to do in the middle of the night when the rest of the world is lying dormant in temporary hibernation? Drunk dialing is out... Much too sober for that. Scratching my ass seems like a plausible option, but the relief is fleeting at best. Writing seems like the only sensible alternative and while that is fine and dandy, these middle of the night posts never seem to make it to to the publishing phase. More than likely this will join the countless others in the "draft" folder, far away from the public eye...

So is there even a point to this?

Most of the stuff in the draft folder is mind-numbing. I really ought to go through it sometime and drag out whatever can be salvaged and bring it to fruition. More than likely however, most of it is trash, and it will sit there like a dusty trinket on a far away shelf. I'm not like Tommy, who can muster up a creative genius at a moment's notice on sleepless nights... Most of what I write doesn't come off the cuff anymore. I try my best to bring substance to what goes on this page, and while that may or may not be the case, that's the evolutionary course my mind has taken when it comes to writing. Most of the posts that you read here have been at least a week or two in the making before they hit your eyes. Tommy on the other hand can draw from his subconscious, it seems. He can write great symphonies of loquacious splendor without even putting thought to it. It doesn't matter if it is noon, or four in the morning. Hell, it doesn't matter if he he's been awake for 9 days, that boy can tell a story with the best of 'em. Or, at the very least he always seems to have something pertinent to say.


Speaking of fellow bloggers, I had a chance to hang out with Shep this Friday. He got into town around four o'clock in the afternoon, and we decided to go to the local tavern and have a couple of pints while making plans for the night. As it turned out, the need to plan anything never became an issue from that point forward. The pints were tasting especially well, and the entire task of finding something to do basically took care of itself.

At 42 years old, I find that I can still put 'em down like a 25 year old. However, the next day came especially harsh... I worked 14 hours on Saturday... And I was quickly reminded of my age, plus some.

Getting a drunk driving charge slammed against you while driving to work can never be a good thing... But I was actually considering that as a possibility on Saturday. Plus, I do not know about you, but draught beer seems to suck all the blood out of my brain when I drink it in large quantities, and even though it is essentially a liquid based (at least partly) with water, it dehydrates the holy Jeebus out of me. It's a hell of a thing to be be driving to a 14 hour work day quite possibly still under the influence, with a brain shot full of holes, and a mouth so dry that it causes you to gag each time you take a breath. Water was my best friend Saturday, and even now I feel a little dry around the edges. But nonetheless it was great to hang out with Shep and talk about music, sports and life, despite the near-death sensation it caused me to feel the next day.

As a side note... "The Alabama Whiskey Song" (by the Doors) and "Ms. Jackson" (by Outkast) have been on a steady loop rotation in my head since I woke up Saturday morning. Upon a phone call made to Shep earlier tonight, he confirmed playing the Doors on the jukebox. However, the story behind the  presence of "Ms. Jackson" is still unclear. (This is for real...)


See... This post never really got off the ground, did it? I do consider it more substantial that this BBC interview Tom Jones did, in which he describes a night of drinking with Elvis. But then again, that's not saying much. I've got better stories than his from when I was drinking alone.

Maybe the next time I can't sleep I should ask Tommy to write this for me...

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