Another block of time, lost, gone forever. Again, I had a one-day weekend. I spent most of it nursing a hangover from the night before, and then the following morning. Or does that count as during? I won't bore you with the painful, throbbing details.
I have methodically deposited little sections of my life unequally into the bottom of beer bottles. I've poured entire portions into whiskey bottles in a single run. Long ago I realized that most of the joy I get from drinking occurs within the first few drinks. Then after that the scales are somewhat quickly tipped towards the things that I don't care for: the repetitive behavior and speech, the boorish antics, the indignant insistence and unnecessary emphasis, the desire/need to discuss my emotions almost exclusively while in that state, the obnoxious demand to do so again, and again, inarticulate belligerence, repetitive speech, etc.
Of course Icebreaker believes that nature is better than plastic, hence the jogging mannequins. Because nothing screams nature the way that well-dressed athletic mannequins do.
When it comes to peddling the idea of nature, only the shop-lined Soho district of Manhattan will do...
Here is a rose, being hung upside down in a store window, for its crimes against the cross.
"The problem with some people is that when they're not drunk, they're sober." - William Butler Yeats
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