Posts Tagged ‘wine


today i die

i am leaving.  Whoops!  I’m back.  Shit, that was fast.  Did I already write this?

this is confusing.  there’s no joy to be had in time.  we must run from it.  if we adapt our bodies to night/day, light/dark chaos it could possibly save the species.  we must adapt our enjoyments or risk losing enjoyment as a motivator.  human creativity is suffocating itself to death, we must fight soon.  time is a motherfucker not to be trifled with, but, how did it get this power?  i smell an oppressor.  i’ll be first and zealous in the slaying of the defenders of time.   defenders of quantity and measurement.  they are the evilest, vilest and most sinister lot, those, while they undo our creative instinct, molding it with time.

fight this bullshit oppressor however you can.  write fiction on office time.  have everyone on your block get night jobs and have bar b-ques after work at 7am.  get a tivo.  sell your tivo.  make your own bread.  spazz out about nothing in the most loving way you can and then hide in the bathroom.  find peace in rejecting zen.  make samyama on the mundane.

Most important, give yourself a chance.


back to school

Don’t read this if you’re not a voyeur, it’s going to be very uninteresting and journal-ish.  I may just be documenting this for my own decompression’s sake.

Mondays are going to be very tough for the next 13 weeks.  I learned that today.  I (should) get up at 6:45, work until 2:30, go to classes from 3-8:30, and then brave the bus or take the not-so-scenic 40 minute walk home.  I chose walking.  Now I am finally relaxed in my ‘fort’ with a glass of wine and some herbal platitude feeling the desire to write but not necessarily have to think about it.  I figured imnotme was the place to do just that.

So, this semester I am taking Intro To Writing Fiction and Asian Philosophy.  Both conceptual walks in the park, though I have been additionally blessed by two extroardinarily competent instructors who are also both gifted facilitators and lectors.  This, of course, translates into more challenging work, and more challenging work.  Not what I had hoped from the course titles.  I figured I could doodle my way to a 4.0 for the term.

Oh well.  A. and I have been living in the aforementioned ‘fort’, which is our office turned snuggle-pen via streaming netflix movies on my computer aimed at the bed that was not always in the middle of our office.  It’s a cramped, but cozy place.  So cozy we even watched 2 seasons of Family Ties.  And liked it.  This is also the only room in our ginormous apartment that has air-conditioning, which neither of us are huge proponents of, though it’s aided the desperate-crack-addict appetite we’ve had for fits of snuggling and various other pillow-and-blanket oriented tasks.

Getting high does improve both my writing, and my reading.  I’m sure of it.  Hehe.

I’m going to abandoned this now and go let my friend in the house.


out of alcohol? Sell the laptop!

Today I pawned my laptop. I bought it when I started college two years ago and it served me faithfully. However, since then I’ve become an alcoholic and, as frugal as possible, spend roughly $250 a month on beer/wine. Combine that with pack-a-day smoking and you have a very expensive team of vices. So what’s the deal? Why not dry out?

I hate being sober at night. It’s just that simple. The drinking is easy to abstain from. I can enjoy a nice cup of tea as readily as any liquor. The problem comes after sun set when it’s time to consider bedding down. I cannot handle the idea of just laying in bed hoping for sleep, because I know it will not come. I will not go gentle into that dark night. Therefore, boozing myself to sleep, while expensive and unhealthy, is the best I can do to relinquish my hold on the current day and accept that I am going to let it slip away from me.

I wonder often about what it would take to accept the insomnia and force myself into natural sleep.

A child. I think it would take having a child.



Apparently it is unwise to stay up until 3am drinking wine and playing Risk when you need to get up at 7am that same morning. The reason it’s unwise is twofold.

Firstly, getting drunk doubles your chances of setting your alarm to PM by not going all the way through the numbers so that the proper dot is lit next to the display. I’m sure this happens to all of us. Second, depending on the volume of wine ingested, 3am may not be far enough away from 7am to sober up, increasing your odds of sleeping through your alarm, shutting your alarm off and going back to bed, or getting a DWI on your way into work. This morning, on top of the lingering buzz and the panic of realizing I was late, I was asked to do some stunt driving. Someone was either moving in or out of a neighboring residence, and as I park in the back off the alley, their truck was blocking my exit.

“Got enough room to get out?” called the male driver.

“Yeah, I think so” I lied, up to the challenge.

I managed to back out between a telephone pole and the nose of his truck with mere centimeters on either side, whipped backwards into the neighbors spot, and went on my way, noting the look of respect on the man’s face. As I drove off I thanked something or other for letting me through that without incident. They were in a rental truck, so there would have been a claim no matter how minor the damage.

Anyhow, I think this particular late arrival just avoided radar detection. I won’t know for days. What I do know, is that I really need to safeguard myself against oversleeping, because let’s face it, oversleeping is annoying for everyone.


“Christmas” the oaf grunted

When boxed wine first hit the shelves of liquor retailers, it was met with guffaws.  “Where’s the romance?”  “Surely this can’t be proper wine!”

On the whole, as it was new, those offended had a point.  The stuff was wretched.  McWine, if you will.  Within a few years, more reputable wine makers, particularly in California and Australia, began to release higher quality boxed wine and the public responded, first with skeptical curiosity, and then with a conversion-experience type of approval, becoming often evangelical in the defense of their semi-faux pas.

More and more, consumers became convinced of the value of boxed wine.  You could pour a glass without worrying about spoilage, and most boxes equaled 4-6 bottles worth of wine for the cost of one midrange corked.  So the real idea behind it all (which was the ability to stay fresh once openned) caught on and people, begrudgningly or otherwise, began to purchase these rectangular casks en masse.

The side effect that the wine producers may or may not have foreseen, was the likelihood that, given how splendidly easy it is to ration over generous amounts of wine to oneself without the visual aid of watching a 750mL bottle rapidly empty, that people would consume immoral amounts of the juice in one sitting.

A. and I have discovered this ease of over-consumption with a particular brand and as such have coined a term for the absolutely hair brained points of mopey conflict that can arise from over-drinking:


I find it to be a particularly clever use of the wine maker’s name, and have often mused that the grin he sports on the side of his box is one of sinister mirth, knowing the trouble he will cause anyone involved in social interaction upon its indulgence.  A mixture of liquid courage, regression, and truth serum.

A. and I cannot afford the better tasting boxed wine and have been set to acquiring a taste for what can only be described as Red Liquid Nascar.  Why this devotion to drunkenness?  There were aspirations of drying out upon moving that were shrugged off with frightening ease.  There were elaborate discussion about the new personal daily habits we would acquire after moving to our first apartment together.  Yet, neither of us can easily see much fun in a summer evening, equipped with a three season porch and a bent towards conversation, without the slow stupefication of alcohol to lubricate the potential friction of our intercourse as it becomes braver still with each glass.

If only it didn’t lead to moments where, staring at a picture of a brick wall and sky and being asked “Where was that taken,” the inquirer would receive a dull grunt of “Christmas.”

Mind you, Velladrama is not the rule.  Exceptional as the exception has proven to be, most evenings of wino-esque activity yield results no more harmful than what amounts to a two person party.  Music, discussion, and alcohol fueled passion.  All relatively standard.  Some very funny and very dumb things have been born of it.  Chasing neighborhood kids through the park and screaming “ARE WE HAVING FUN!?”  Getting excited during an argument and breaking a knuckle on the door.  Having a who-can-give-the-other-a-bigger-bruise contest.  Destroying the kitchen to make something one wouldn’t eat sober.  Never ending rounds of Risk and Poker.  Driving to Missouri.

I dare say the question of drinking is high philosophy for A. and I at this point.  Something to be debated by the greeks.  Of course, the day to move on will come, and the biggest question will be then: can we?

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June 2019
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