May 18, 2007

What Ales You?

I am a little wary about:

The Tigers. Lost 3 of 4 games last week to the Red Sox. Granted, two were on the same day (and it’s hard for me to stay awake watching six consecutive hours of baseball; I’d be a walking noodle if I had to actually play) and a lot of first-stringers are out with various injuries, but… listen. I admit I only started following MLB last season, when the Tigers were in the playoffs, but I was at school in Worcester when the Red Sox won their last series, and I have to ask: Are there any two teams that are as Underdog / World Champion bipolar as the Tigers and the Red Sox? They’re like necromancers, raising their fans from the dead every couple of years just to kick them in the nuts and put them back down. Moreso on the Tigers side, since the last time they won the WS I was too busy munching crayons and watching Muppet Babies to celebrate properly. I don’t know if I can watch the Cardinals game tonight—bad juju.

Wirter’s block. Not really a block; more like Writer’s Apathy. Or Atrophy. Should some noteworthy planetary event, hostile alien takeover or spontaneous human combustion happen on vacation, my pen is at the ready (provided the human in question is not me; I don’t know where the pen will be then). Crowd-pleasing tales of drunkenness and bawdy hi-jinks can be counted upon notwithstanding.

Drinking. Apparently there will be plenty of this during my stay. I have heard more promises of wine, beer, cider, lager and Guinness in the last week than I did the day before I turned twenty-one. What Sarah’s poor school chums don’t know is that we’ve switched her formerly-middling alcohol tolerance with this new tolerance of an eighty-year-old diabetic. Let’s see if they notice the difference.

France.

Diet Food. But if you’ve never had whipped cream on your yogurt, you do not know what you’re missing. Go. Tell others.

Whether this CD and this one will arrive on time. Because I have had these songs stuck in my head, rotating, in tortuous jukebox mode, for two days--and although I love them very much I have to at least look like I’m working, here.

Cash flow. In pocket: $4. In bank: $21. Leaving: This Tuesday. Paid: Next Friday. Panhandling: Next Thursday (no earlier; I have my pride).

Family. My sister has been up until the wee hours three nights a week, unable to sleep. She insists she has insomnia, which I believe, if “insomnia” is the latest incarnation of Warcraft.

Performance anxiety. My brother wants me to give a reading at his wedding. Haiku, interpretive dance, and Powerpoint presentations have all been shot down. Rallying with a proposal for my presidential stump speech, otherwise, I’m out.

The flight. Hm. Yes. Those CDs better be in my mailbox tout de suite. Also, Xanax.

Office politics. If you order something from maintenance on Monday—say, a trash bin, something that is lightweight and something which they have in abundance, surrounding the office, and which they will not let you go down and retrieve yourself, and today you see your maintenance guy wandering the hallway, ignoring his pager and eating a Butterfinger—at what point is it okay to set him on fire?

Pants. It’s a long, boring, whiny story. The climax involves a couch and bread products, the villain is self-control.

The bathing-suit-enhanced sightline. Particularly, the application of Nair to the DMZ of one’s bits. A moot point, perhaps, since

The weather.
The Bay State is a big fat comedian.

1 comment:

Ian said...

Ahh, saving the panhandling for your day with me, are you? I always knew you cared!