Or, Not 13 December 1998

Well that didn't quite work out as planned. The chicken vindaloo was excellent, yes, and spicy in that Defcon-1 way. "Am I actually losing an outer layer of skin, or is it just an illusion?" "Oh, that's just an illusion." "I feel so much better now." It's not immediate, you only gradually realize that your head is on fire. And it was all proceeded by just all manner of kinds of food, which is how I cover for not remembering the names of any of it. Much lamb was involved.

But, instead of leaving with a solidly full feeling and a strong thirst as planned, I more rolled out like the Hindenberg headed for New Jersey. A little too much, perhaps a little too bland of a diet preceding. We got to the bar and it only took me about twenty minutes to realize that, no no, this is just not going to work out. I had to go away home and lie flat, sedate, and unbuckled for a few hours before I had the strength to do anything else. And that means I missed out on most of the evening of free beer, and that's an awful shame, you know. Probably all performance anxiety anyway.

Today was another opportunity, in a very different way, for a very different reason. Some people from the old SFNet held a wake for the recently departed Exploding Boy of our mutual accquaintance, renting out the bar for the occasion. I had to give it a pass, though. I didn't really know him that well, to begin with, and I felt a little hinky about just going down because I knew the people organizing it and the drinks were free. I really doubt that would have mattered to anyone there. Just squeamish.

This is what happens when someone you know drops all the way down to that junkie center of the earth. For so long now, the news has been, hey, I saw Exploding Boy, he's still alive. After a few years you lose sight of how terrible it is. I didn't want to stand around listening to phony sentiment about it, or fill in with empty noises of my own. Like, um, this stuff.

Yah. So! Food coming. Night fallen. Rain hello. Christmas cards to buy. The Trivial Parade continues.

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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