Beauty and Boeuf (sp)

This is what happens when one looks away from one's curly-headed little girl. Now she can make mysterious eyes at a camera. Hmmm. How did that happen?

Pretty soon I'm going to burst into Sonny I Miss You or Watching Scotty Grow, or some other sappy Bobby Goldsboro hit from the sixties. Bobby was a popular singer of sentimental songs about kids and made a bundle, but unfortunately he was convicted of molesting one of the little tykes. That sort of took the momentum out of his hit machine.

Famous Pedophiles, for fifty, Bert!

I came to the conclusion the other day that drinking half a fifth of scotch a night was perhaps excessive. Also a factor was my falling asleep in my chair and not being very much fun to have around. Not going to teetotal, mind you, avid reader, I. I just need to think about why I was drinking so much alcohol.

It was very easy to do. I just kept the ice full and the glass got cold and it was just so pleasant. A good blast after work, one after dinner, and one before bed. Snork. Last Sunday I polished off my last two beers and quietly switched to water. Robyn noticed, but I don't think the kids have. It hasn't been very long, but I don't think I'm going to need a medal or anything. I have to ask myself "if it was so easy to get under control, how come it took you so long to do it?"

Or mabye it isn't under control. Maybe I'm going to really get big bad cravings. Writing about that scotch made my mouth water. That first drink tastes so good! It will also taste good when I go visit folks, or when we go to a bar or something. For a while, though, drinking needs to be an event, at lest marginally remarkable. We'll see how that works.

I look pretty "remarkable" in this candid photo, snapped by Caitlin.

My friend John emailed me the other day, and he's had a hell of a year. Quit his job (didn't get that story yet), had toe surgery, had a "nasty fall", had gall bladder surgery, and has a cat who had a false leukemia scare. Man. That's suffrin'. Here's to a better year, buddy (lifts a glass of . . . fucking ice water. . . no, really, it's okay)!

John says the worst part is walking like an old man. May this, too pass.

Bobby Goldsboro also wrote That's My Boy. Hey, I'm not making this up!

Let it snow tonight. Let the suburban vinyl be covered with a soft blanket. Under the streetlight it comes diagonally down. I am home safe with family and dog, drinking fucking ice water and feeling glad to be here. I hope you are, too. Glad to be here, that is. Drink what you want.