Will's Coffee House

John Dryden, Dramatist, Critic, Poet Laureate, and my ancestor, frequented a coffee house called Will's almost daily, where he would hold forth on sundry subjects with great wit and aplomb. Same deal here, only without the wit or aplomb.

Name:
Location: Large Midwestern City, Midwestern State, United States

I am a stranger in a sane land...

Monday, September 18, 2006

Sigh and Sigh Again

See, this is why I didn't want to start blogging again--I'm struck by days in which I have rien de tout to say, and so have to fall back on pretentious faux-French (just did it again!) to convey some semblance of an entry.

Weekend was pleasant, if a bit hectic--parents and sibling and sibling's Highly Significant Other (they live together in sin in a condo which they mutually own--I've pointed out that they might as well get married, since co-owned real estate is a hell of a lot more binding than nuptual vows) were all in town, first to visit the city of the Alma Mater of Mom and Dad and Brother, thereat to watch a football game at which the home team won, hurrah--so nice not to have to walk the streets with a bunch of surly, drunken people looking for a face they don't like so they can collectively take out their frustrations on him (and I definitely have such a face, smug little bastard that I am.)

So I drove to said city, waited out the football game--actually, watched it in a hotel bar with a drink--as a side note, if you have a headache, two Advil chased with a vodka gimlet will clear that sucker right up--whilst I reviewed drafts (students' first paper is due on Friday, which means this week will be the Suck That Is Grading, What Fun) and prepped lesson plans for the upcoming week. Then the game ended, I met up with them, and the drinking began. And continued. Through to Sunday.

It was that kind of slow, steady drinking that never lets up and doesn't feel like a bender because you're never totally, stinking blind at any given moment, and yet there's rarely a point at which you don't have a drink in your hand (kind of like Dashell Hammett's The Thin Man--read it sometime--Nick Charles would fix himself a drink on the way to the bathroom at 3:00 in the morning). Anyway.

So now it's Monday and I feel like there was no weekend, and I'm wasted and cranky and just...well, I've nothing to say. So, in lieu of, I've offer my apologies and explanation for this here--but no excuses: I regret nothing. (Oh, that's so not true...)

1 Comments:

Anonymous Katie said...

I've yet to meet a people who embrace drinking like those dear folks. It would have been OK had they lost - there would have been alcohol to help them cope. But when they win? Drinks to celebrate! In fact, the city view on drinking is pretty much my view on anything sweet (cupcakes, brownies, red velvet cake, chocolate... There was this certain kind of chocolate cake I can only find there. And cookies shaped like cows! Now I'm distracted.)

The point is that there's no reason not to be drinking at any given moment while you're there, and if research/work can't be done drunk or hungover? Well, then it's probably not worth doing. In fact, my relative sobriety probably helped in making people think I was smart enough to finish grad school. Good city. Glad you enjoyed it. And some things are worth the suffering afterward.

8:42 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home