Friday, July 27, 2012

Seriously In Our Cups

We've been outside on the verandah since 1900 hrs and we're at the point where we're dangerous.  Like this:

So put me on a highway
And show me a sign
And take it to the limit one more time 
Dangerous would mean three iterations o' "two fingers" o' scotch, followed up with three Rusty Nails.  It's taking every fiber in my rational being to avoid getting in The Tart, setting her cruise control at 80, pointing her in a southerly direction, and tuning the XM to a blues station, the upshot bein' I could be in Ciudad Juarez before last call (Heh.  There's never a last call there.) if I left right now.  God bless us everyone for the ... ahem... wisdom that comes with old age, coz I think I'm gonna put it to bed rather than hit the highway.  But there WAS a time...

16 comments:

  1. Posting from the mountains - sat out on the porch with old friends and had happy hour - drank Blue Moon. More later.

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    1. I forgot you were away this week, Lou. I hope your night was as good as mine!

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  2. "...there WAS a time..."

    Oy! I remember those days ...and reaching the limit.

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  3. In my younger days I used to frequent a bar with a large moose head on the wall. When the moose would start moving his lips it was time to stagger home! Good times, great memories.

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    1. I ate in a restaurant with a talking moose head once. Really.

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    1. Yeah, considering the state of my head this morning. I stopped just in time.

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  5. Speaking personally, as I advance into, uh, old(er) age, I find it's not so much wisdom which prevents me from doing the dumb things I did in my youth, but I'm just too damn tired to get off my butt.

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  6. "...there WAS a time..."

    Yes, yes, yes there was...lol....the Mexico bit brings back memories of a memorable trip which started out in Baton Rouge over a drunken semester break with a fraternity brother , 3 oil-rig workers just off a rig in the gulf with wads of just--got-paid cash and a pharmacists assist from the drugstore just off campus (Big Tom, he of 6'3" and 273lbs of greasy gut, lol )of my Jr year in college and ended up in Monterrey, Mex with two car-loads of us at the bull-fights cheering for the bull (Oh-F***ing-Lay!) and people moving rapidly away from us with horrified looks on their faces (I admit we were a distinctly disreputable-looking group)in ever-increasing concentric circles: Lanny (in car on the way after having been passed out for several hours) "Man, I feel "brown" (as in like..) take me back to my villa." "Can't do that L.C." "Why not??" "Lanny, we're in Mexico." "NOHHooo." "Yeassss..." LOL......a very long story to be told at a later date..

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  7. PS: Lanny had a distinct sense of humor. Once after a particularly drunken apt party Lanny (wearing an LSU sweatshirt) awoke the next day on the couch to find a guy with an Okla State sweatshirt on the floor also waking up. Pointing to the guy's sweatshirt L.C said: "Am I there or are you here" (pointing to his own) "You're safe" came the reply. lol

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    1. You have the best stories, Virgil.

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  8. Buck, every time I hear that song I think about my Cousin, Mark Newland. Well...he was really my Mom's cousin, but he was a year younger than me, so we grew up as cousins.

    Mark had finally gotten his life together. He was a hell-raising, worthless, NEVER GONNA BE NOTHING kid from Mooringsport, LA. But, he had finally gotten it together. He was about 20, I guess.

    On his way to work, he left the road on his Kawasaki (on a bade curve), and slammed head-long in to a pine tree. I still see that pine tree when I go from Daddy's place to the bait store when I go up on Caddo Lake to fish.

    Damn shame, too.

    Anyway...Mark was paralyzed because of the motorcycle accident. He lived for about 20 years after it. He lived at the Northwest State School, and at LSU Medical Center in Shreveport for a long time right after the accident. His Mom and Dad (my Great Uncle, and Great Aunt) brought him back home to Mooringsport, and did their best to care for him. He finally recovered enough to drive himself in an electric wheelchair with his right hand on the throttle.

    But, he never spoke, and there was only a faint glimpse of "Mark" in his eyes the whole time.

    At his funeral about 10 years ago, the Preacher (who just happened to be his Brother-in-Law) finished up a fine sermon. And then he stepped back...the music began to play...Cleve said, "Let's send Mark on with his favorite song he loved so much as a young man."

    You guessed it. The overhead PA began to play "Take It To The Limit." The old folks gasped! But, Pam leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Damn...this is good." I caught double eyes with the Preacher. He saw mine, and I saw his...and we both busted out laughing! I mean, it was REALLY not appropriate for a funeral. Cleve gave me the "thumbs up," and I returned it.

    Great music done by The Eagles (at least in my humble, expert opinion). They touched us all in that age group.

    R.I.P. Mark...

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    1. That's a brilliant story, Andy... and I thank you for sharing it.

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