Payday for my pony

Friday payday for my pony.



Published in: on October 21, 2011 at 9:22 pm  Leave a Comment  

sweet whiskey

Whiskey for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I wish. Even I can’t do that. But ain’t it pretty to think so?

Published in: on July 29, 2008 at 12:19 pm  Leave a Comment  

Just another last night

Went to the local bar last night. Drank hard. Had dinner at Devon’s with M. Went to the Jagz show with Billy. When we got back to the bar, I was wasted–too wasted to drink anymore. I stood alone outside the bar entrance leaning on a railing hoping my motor coordination would improve and my thoughts would clear. I walked home without going inside for a drink or saying goodbye or seeing if I already had a tab running.

The coffee tastes like shit today. Everything tastes like shit.

Published in: on July 11, 2008 at 10:08 am  Comments (2)  

Doing things drunk

Let’s face it. Nothing goes well when one is drunk. I, for one, would much rather be sober when having sex or playing chess no matter who my partner or opponent is or their state of inebriation. Yet I do both activities drunk way too much of the time. Loving someone when I am drunk is the worst of all. My heart cheats itself, for I know it is infinitely better to step outside into the daylight sober with a beloved beside me than fall into bed with them for some drunken sex.

When I’m drunk only the drinking gets better. Nothing else.

Published in: on July 9, 2008 at 10:45 am  Comments (2)  

Bud for breakfast

The Budweiser for breakfast yesterday was a really bad idea. I won’t be trying it again anytime soon if ever.

Oh well, I am an old fool who has never learned much. I wonder what life would be like without drinking.

Published in: on June 26, 2008 at 7:17 am  Leave a Comment  

Breakfast, etc.

Coffee, cigarettes, potato chips, and Budweiser was my breakfast. By the way, Budweiser is not the name of anything but a beer. The brand name was coined because it was thought to appeal to Americans and German immigrants both. It worked.

God, I am so totally fucked. I mean, a grown man writing this shit down for people to read.

Published in: on June 25, 2008 at 10:58 am  Leave a Comment  

Unexpected visit

I received an unexpected call yesterday afternoon from a Canadian friend with whom I used to work. He invited me out for a couple of drinks.

He was greatly surprised to see my hair drawn into a ponytail, for I used to wear an expensively cut businessman’s haircut. We did not talk about the old days when we were intimate enough to commiserate with each other about work problems. Instead, we talked about his wife, with whom I also worked and liked immensely. We also talked about how I had been living an extravagantly expensive bohemian phase of my life for the past six years. He was rather surprised to hear it. I always camouflaged my real interests when we worked together.

I told him I had fallen in love this year with a woman significantly younger than me. He said good for me, but I could tell that surprised him too.

He apologized for not buying me dinner, but he had gone out with business associates earlier. I told him my dinners usually consisted of beer and whiskey anyway, so I was right at home. He laughed. He said that surprised him too. I wondered though. Did I camouflage my drinking all that well back in those days?

Our hour together passed all too briefly. When I got home I found a postcard in the mailbox from him telling me he was going to be in Chicago. I wished I had known sooner, for we would have had a chance to make plans to spend more time together catching up.

I needed something pleasant like that last night. V was at the Rush concert with one of her friends. I was feeling lost without her as I always do when we are apart for one or two days.

Now that working in the corporate world seems like a dream I woke up from long ago, I have added lots of good friends to my life. Not to mention the old ones who still think of me and want to hoist a few together if we get the chance.

Published in: on June 10, 2008 at 10:55 am  Leave a Comment  

Money shot

Yeah, we all need someone we can dream on
And if you want it, you can dream on me
Yeah, we all need someone we can cream on
And if you want it, you can cream on me

You can cum all over me

Let It Bleed, Rolling Stones

It has cooled; fog lies at ground level and seeps through the balcony door. Books feel cool and damp. Let It Bleed plays on the radio. It is another day signifying nothing, yet pregnant with everything, unless the seed has been spilled outside the vaginal passage. The money shot just might be the the image for our time. Watch enough money shots and that is the only thing that fulfills your desire even if you are gloriously in love.

Philosophy texts, novels, poetry books, mathematics texts, and the current bestsellers for a week loaned by friends spill about the room like the cum from one large grand money shot.

Published in: on June 3, 2008 at 11:45 am  Comments (3)  

Hanging out

I sat in the bar last night between V and my great friend Dan. Dan and I watched the Cubs game and talked baseball and politics, which is always a good time. V talked to Kevin, another good friend, about buildings and architecture.

Nothing fancy, yet for me that is a splendid evening.

Published in: on May 29, 2008 at 9:33 am  Leave a Comment  


I’ll admit it. There was a time when I liked drinking alone. I don’t like doing it anymore. I enjoy company when I drink. I only have alcohol at my place because V and I drink here when we are not drinking at the bar.

My father’s favorite drink was a highball made with blended Canadian whiskey and Seven-up. My current favorite drink is a Maker’s Mark and ginger ale highball. I probably would have been a highball drinker sitting in the bar all my life, but I did not want to admit that I was like my father. I now know what was going on during a part of his life he thoroughly enjoyed.

I’m sorry, Dad. I should have been more understanding. It is ironic. One of the last things you said to me was not to let the drinking take over my life as it did yours. I wish there was a god, heaven, and lots of immortal souls populating it, souls such as yours. The thought of you laughing at me as I sit in a dark bar drinking highballs feels good. You deserve some sort of revenge for me being such a bad son. But one of the other things you said shortly before you died was that after this life there was nothing but the grave and oblivion. I agree with that, but I did not learn it from you.

I’d love to be sitting in a dark bar drinking highballs and watching baseball on television with you right now. I’d even tell you I love you, always did, and always will.

Published in: on May 27, 2008 at 2:25 pm  Leave a Comment  

Loving, smoking, and drinking

V left my place not too long ago to go to work. The grim reality that I will not see her until some time next week settles upon me. Reality sucks.

I wish I had an ashtray with a cigarette burning in it sitting beside me. Any kind of emotional low triggers the craving. Maybe, I am suffering some undetected or unidentified emotional low right now. Would knowing the cause of this craving help me prevent it in the future? I doubt it. My body is a lump of weak flesh. My brain chemistry will have to adjust itself in the basement without conscious help from upstairs.

I left my briefcase at the bar again last night. I will do that once too often and eventually lose it. I hope it isn’t today. I spend too many mornings wondering where I lost things the night before or how I broke something. The drinking life comes with all kinds of costs. Oh well, as I tell my friends at the bar while avoiding talking about my problems: I drink to forget.

Damn, this coffee sure would go well with a cigarette.

Published in: on May 22, 2008 at 9:27 am  Comments (1)  

Perfect weekend

Dear Diary,

I pretty much had the perfect weekend. First of all, my great friend Dan gave me a surprise birthday on Saturday night. We boarded a trolley with a keg of beer, picked up pizza’s at Piece (Chicago’s premier pizza joint), and drove around the city. Then we went drinking at Pippin’s. Most of all though, I got to hang out with my best friends for one of the most special times of my life.

V and I spent the weekend together too. Except for the party, we did not do much. We read, worked Sudoku, and watched baseball and movies on Sunday.

Like I said, the perfect weekend.

Published in: on May 19, 2008 at 11:54 am  Leave a Comment  


A premonition of trouble crosses my mind that is all feeling rather than image. The scary part is it feels like trouble I cannot avoid or do anything about. A voice from inside me says, don’t worry, Lynn, everything will be, OK.


Published in: on March 28, 2008 at 12:16 pm  Comments (3)  

Summer of ’69: booze, drugs, chess, and sex

I was stationed at the Camp Pendleton Brig during the summer 1969. I was marking time until I was discharged from the Marine Corps in 1970. My job that summer, at the exalted rank of sergeant, was to take care of the linen loft amongst other menial mind numbing chores. The linen loft was a small dark second story room in the corner of the Brig supply shed. My job was to hand out pillow cases, sheets, and blankets to incoming prisoners. Once a week, I would take two prisoners and load up all the dirty linen and take it to the base laundry.

I had plenty of time on my hands. I filled it with Ron Rico 151 rum and Coca Cola, drugs, and lots of reading. I had a friend, whose last name was Prince, but whose first name eludes me, who had a chess set. He reintroduced me to the game. We would play for hours after work.

Prince was discharged from the service that summer. He bequeathed his chess set and his copy of Jose Capablanca’s book, A Primer of Chess, to me. I filled my idle hours in the linen loft by pouring over the book and trying to get better at the game. I was living off base at a house a block away from the beach in California. My friend with whom I shared the house liked to play chess, so at night we would play a few games. He would beat me all the time with his unorthodox moves, which you could not find in Capablanca. When he was not around, I would drive all over the place looking for games and play until late at night. It curbed my drink and drug habit. It’s hard to win unless your opponent is at least as stoned as you.

That summer I received a very unexpected letter from the sister of my best friend in high school. Let’s call her Susan. She and I got together when I went home on leave to Iowa that summer. She was about to begin college. She was absolutely beautiful and spectacularly put together. I had had a crush on her since she was 14. All of sudden she was my girlfriend. I really lucked out.

My chess addiction continued until I was released from the service in March 1970. I went back to Iowa and enrolled in college. Susan and I spent every available moment we had together that summer. Then she went to her college and I went to mine. And we drifted apart even though I loved her. She had another boyfriend at her college. I didn’t lack for women friends, so it softened the blow.

I did not play much chess my first two years of college. Then the notorious Fischer/Spassky world chess championship in Iceland made the scene in 1972. Everybody started playing chess. Each morning I combed the papers to find out the latest status of the Fischer/Spassky games. I started playing lots of chess to the detriment of my studies. Let’s call it the second phase of my chess addiction.

Now, I’m sitting here writing, recollecting, playing ten simultaneous chess games on the Internet, reading a chess book off and on, and making moves on my little magnetic travel chess set sitting by by the computer. I am addicted again. I wish I had not dropped chess for so many years. I’d like to think that if I had played occasionally and regularly I would be a decent player now.

However, with the Internet and the ability to play correspondence like chess with opponents, I might keep at it this time. It is a honey of a game. Unlike love, I even win sometimes.

Published in: on November 28, 2007 at 12:06 pm  Leave a Comment  

Notes on the drinking life

I was told on good authority by a wonderful friend to put this post back. So here it is.

I think about the old days when I drank alone. That may have been best, for at least I was honest. Everybody who drinks hard really wants to drink alone.

Published in: on October 26, 2007 at 10:42 pm  Leave a Comment