Very serious hangover (Circa 1993)

...one for the books.

I can't erven focusd - or type...that's supposed to say `I can't even focus...' - well, to prove the point I guess.

Don't know how I got here or where I was. There are fourteen empty Heineken bottles and Budweiser cans strewn about plus a fifth of Canadian Mist is gone all but for one shot, which I may need real soon...and a half-full Ball belljar of cold flat beer which I guess I'll have to gag down after I gag down the shot of rye to bring me around - a true alcoholic's road to recovery - hair of the dog.

It works, yes, but only leads one deeper into the nether world of stupefied alcoholism, a world I've languished in and out of for most of my life. Truth be told I've been a drunk for more or less the last 35 years. Ain't dead yet...living by luck continues afresh with every breath I draw.

Alcoholism is the penultimate love-hate relationship, the ultimate of course being Lover/Lover relationships, but anyway booze is the most mixed of mixed blessings. Through thick and thin, good times and bad, the Demon Rum stands by you at the ready, waiting for you to drop your guard.

You say you just LOST your job and are stopping off at The Bar to have a few beers and think about it? That's one side of the lure; another side (for it is many-sided, dodecahedronal at least) - AN other side being that, `O! You just GOT a job and you're stopping off at The Bar to think about it over a few brews, maybe throw in a shot take the edge off...

Ouisquebaugh...pronounced `whiskey baa' - In Belfast and Dublin, Blarney and Cork, all across the Motherland - Ouisquebaugh, whiskey baa, Sweet Water Of Life!

I choke down the Canadian version and the flat brew and take a seat on the couch to ruminate over life as Glenn Gould plays piano and hums his way through Bach's Goldberg Variations to accompany my thoughts.

...speaking of Bach.

You know if you're going to be given the old saw of being stranded alone on an island who's music would you take, what book and so on...(Is it annoying the way NFTD segues from one subject to another, or is that part of its charm? You tell me, I don't know, but I do know that's the way I am so that's the way it is...too late to suddenly change.)

Anyway...where was I? O yes...Bach.

If you're going to be stranded on an island, if I was anyway and could have my choice for music it would be Bach. There's lots of it and it's all wonderful; yes, I'd take Bach and if there was a Plan B it would include Killer Kane in one configuration or another, he of the virtuoso harmonica and if you've ever read "...NOTES FROM THE DUMP..." you know I'm talking about James Timothy (Killer) Kane the 3rd, one of the greatest harmonica players the world has (n)ever known. Somehow from the Elfish Kane (as Mark Flanagan once so eloquently characterized him) comes a Mississippi saxophone right out of The Delta - even though he's white.

Hmmm...I suppose that could be construed as a semi-racist remark but in fact in the past most of the best blues harpists in the world of The Blues have been black, i. e. Little Walter nor James Cotton got an ounce of Whitey in 'em; on the other hand James Montgomery & that guy with Loaded Dice and Jimmy Kane are all pretty white...The Blues transcends color, class, caste and credo.

What book I would take to Elba, ere were I able, I don't know. Tough choices both of them. Music and books. As far as what other PERSON I might like to be stranded on Exile Island with I can only say that two is a crowd, however...hmmm, I'll call Allison, "My Dear want to be stranded on an island with me..." Oh. Well, maybe when you get back...