I've got to be up in about... 4 hours. Instead of going to bed, I've got a fresh bottle of beer, and refilled my glass with a generous dram of 12 Year Macallan's.
Ah well. I've ridden 300 miles on less sleep, and more booze. (The night before, I hasten to add!) I've gone through interminable meetings. I've even dozed off in meetings after a night out. ...
Sprint,a telecom giant, was bidding for our business. They flew us down from DC to somewhere - I'm sorry, I forget where - and plied us with booze (the salesguy had heard the two decision-makers, my boss and me - liked a good booze-up) and then they showed us a ... video of their chairman yakking. I think I noted that my compadre's were asleep before I hit the (metaphorical) sack. The prior venue was notable for two, three, things: the presentation that said "Revlon" throughout, the quality of the booze and the genuine hilarity of the salesguy. And the fact that MCI got the time of our flight wrong, so we ended up taking cabs to the hotel. While they had sent a stretch limo to meet the next flight. Which, unfortunately, didn't exist. :-) We caught up the stretch limo. More accurately, it caught up with us. We were booked into our rooms. I smoked like chimney on fire, and was given a no-smoking room. With a balcony that I couldn't get to.
I set off the fire alarm.
Inadvertently.
Really. :-)
Afterwards we graced some of DC's best bars with our presence. I had better fun with Steve and Bob. but let's not be churlish. It was rather grand, especially seeing so many dolly birds dropping off a Congressman's arm. If I had to guess, I'd guess "Charlie Wilson". Not sure why...
Where was I?
Oh yes. Fetching another beer. ... No, I can't say that was where I was.
Metaphorically speaking. Metaphorically.
It's cold in here. The thermostat say 73°F I don't believe it. I'm shivering. I don't shiver at 53. Why would I shiver at 73? (To you Europeans and those Britons that can't recall British measures... That would be ... Googleing it... 22.°C. That's celsius. Or centigrade.
Whatever.
Nippy is what I call it.
Does the verb "googleing" require capitalization?
Shouldn't it be "googling"? That spare "e" makes for an awkward word.
I now have to be up in 3 and a half hours.
I just got a fresh beer. Oops.
I bought a case of beer. 8 bottles are left. What is the rate of consumption?
...
And I can still type. :-)
Sorta.
Once upon a time I used to say, at 11PM, "okay, lets go get druuunnk!" And we'd go to some unfortunate (fortunate?) bar and spend upwards of a few hundred dollars. One time we got our AmEx bill and the wife asked me about a ... rather large charge to a certain bar that has adult entertainment as its forte. Good times were had.
That's what pisses me off about these Johnny-be-good times. You can't have a good time without some left or right winger wondering what you're spending your money one. As if it were their wallet you were dipping into. I dipped into my wallet. Sulay taught me the value of dipping into my wallet; god know's, he dipped into his often enough for me. What a guy that man was. Him, Salah, Bill, Eldon, Chris, Mike A, a man could not wish for better teachers.
Ah. Salah. I miss him. I can never repay him, nor would he want me to - he would be insulted! Keeping a bar open in Stratford upon Avon. Paying a full hotel to find me a room. Paying for my ticket even when I told, threatened him with bodily harm.
He was sitting near the girl I wanted to marry. "Salah, you haven't been leading this lass astray, have you?" I asked. "No, but I can" he responded. She didn't quite know how to respond. We were in a London hotel. I'd narrowly escaped arrest, and a so-called friend of mine had narrowly escaped a beating.
If that man turns up on my doorstep, he has a home.
I lost track of him after the first Gulf War.
Damn. It seems like yesterday, and it was over 20 years ago.
Still, there are some people who can turn up and never have to worry about a place a stay.
One time I was on the train home, in Sheffield. I looked: "Fer fuck's sake!" I exclaimed. "Hey" he said. I forget the details. He's recently released and needs a place to hang out for a bit. "I've got a sofa, not too comfortable" It was in the second bedroom. We had a few beers, and I gave him a key. Know him? No. In the all time we hung out, I don't think I ever knew his name. I certainly can't recall it now.
Still, when he left, he made sure to get my key back to me. I think he also made sure that my place was not on anyone's list of places to hit.
He was a grand fellow.
I knew punk, once upon a time. His girlfriend was gorgeous. She once said to me "I like you because you don't ht on me!" I said "Why would I do that? As far as I'm concerned, we're friends!" Years later, I was sitting in s a friend's kitchen and she was complaining about how many of her friends' husband's were hitting on her. She mentioned she liked me because I didn't hit on her...
I'm loyal. Not dead.
I remember one night when I realized the true value of "I'm with you" versus "I'm behind you". Some Hell's Angel's "wanted a word" with my friend, Sid. I told him I was with him. He was so flabbergasted he bought the next round. (That was quite an accolade. His fiscal situation gave his bank manager palpations... Not that I recall him ever having a bank manager.)
That was an awkward moment or two.
I knew a lot of the Angel's. And I basically vouched for Sid. Yeah. I still wonder about that.
Not that I wouldn't stand by Sid. I'd do so even now.
Sod me if I know why. If I ever did, it's lost in the absent years.
One more beer.
My wife is going to be really mad at me.
It's probably ... ... ...
It is pathetic.
I think about times passed
to feel alive today
That's not sad, it's pathetic.
I wonder if anyone reads these meanderings?
There have been times when someone or other has said "so and so has more readers than you!" As if popularity is a measure of something or other. I don't measure my success by the reader count, although I'm told I should. I measure it all by a constant worry: "do I want to delete what I wrote before?" If I say "no", I'm successful. After all, any measure of success that includes quantity is not to be trusted!
Carolyn Ann
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