I Miss Underaged Drinking...and Television

Self Portrait: A Pop Culture Implosion

A product of my environment,
I was influenced by babysitters who were bar tenders: Sam, Woody, and Diane.
Afternoons, after school, bay side or with the Huxtables,
Friends with friends with lost souls at the coffee house,
And pressured by peers who lived on a Creek.

Emotions accustomed to a summer reprieve
And rewarded by an autumn intensity.
Comedy and Life
Set against a backdrop of four-count choruses,
Sarcasm,
Mello-dramatic lyrics
That encapsulate everything I am led to feel.

A game show challenge:
How to live in six-day increments
Outside a pre-programmed audience.
Drama without events-
No storyline neatly wrapped in subplot for comic relief.
Narrative not suitable for television;
Premium-channel surfing on a basic cable budget.
Cliffhangers lose their allure
And summer vacation breakdowns in the tabloids.
Plot twists without previews-
(I wasn’t anything- drowning, heroic, sincere- until, simply, I was)

There is subtext and allegory
Then, Ultimately and Suddenly,
There is Reality.


Just in case, this is Copyrighted, 2007.

A Marathon Weekend

Friday night: The Porch Bar in the East Village

Saturday afternoon for the Alabama vs. LSU game: Croxley Ales on 2nd and Ave B

Saturday night: a house party, some karaoke bar in K Town, and Azza

I'm pretty sure Soleil Moonfrye was at Azza. But I might be wrong. Whoever this girl was took me to her private party and gave me a drink, so I'm a fan. Even she wasn't the poster child for the '80s. But I really think it was her. But I was pretty drunk, so I'm probably wrong.

At some point I lost my license...and my voice. Not that surprising because I lose it on a regular basis (license, not voice). But I had it and then lost it within a cab ride. And I really felt like I was being responsible. (Hence the cab ride just a few blocks across town.)

Then Sunday morning I met up with Anna and watched the marathon run through Fort Green. That was very exciting. And even though I didn't see Katie Holmes or Lance Armstrong, the general sense of goodwill among the 2 million spectators cheering on the thousands of runners...who says New York is cold?

Oh, that's right, it's me. I'm freezing. We played tennis Saturday morning when it was 47 degrees. But the people...they'll surprise you.