Proper Swerve

2005-05-14 6:22 a.m.
Admittedly I don�t watch much TV. If you looked at my �watched show� resume, you might beg to differ, but that�s based far more on circumstance than on an actual desire to dissolve my thoughts into a low resolution 31� light bulb hooked into a vast network of mediocre bullshit. But, while watching Lost some 2 or 3 months ago, I saw one of the finest scenes I can remember in my adult watching years�

You had the token scruffy guy sitting alone at a bar putting them down like water. You had the older lonely soul at the opposite end of the bar (a familiar setting, actually), ensuring to finish the poison before the ice melted away.

The two characters had a moment of small talk and the older gentleman holds up his glass and proclaims �May you find what it is you�re looking for at the bottom of a glass�. My thoughts took a double take. Was that an insightful piece of writing in a show who�s characters are on the cover of supermarket line rags?

Fuck you, no way. The old man then proceeded to request that the bartender leave the bottle (something I�ve always wanted to do in this lifetime � it requires the right moment, at the right �kind� of bar, with the right situation and circumstance), and they proceed to talk about their problems in the general �I don�t know you, but I�m opening up to you� sort of way that comes often in Hollywood and in life, but in life it tends to be FAR different.

This line hit home� not so much because I look to the bottle for answers. My answers and questions tend to come at haste in sobriety. I look to the bottle to stop the questions. But my peers � as in the �other� drunks - tend to find solace in drunkenness. I find peace. It slows my mind enough to allow me to think of one thing at a time.

I like to drink. I absorb things. Whether it be something I�m working on (i.e. writing, programming, etc) or something I�m partaking in that�s been worked on (i.e. reading).

So here I am at 6am. I woke up to a phone call from the voice I�ve been waiting to hear for at least 10 hours and she was drunk, which made me happy. Oh how I love a drunk dial. In all the categories of phone calls received, the drunk dial is by far my favoritest. The absolute bestest.

And 5 minutes after the call was over, I was finally awake and ready to talk. I went for a drive around LA. I actually left to grab some ice, but found myself wandering, calling her, leaving voicemails until I was cut off, and then called again to continue.

Since my return with a 7-11 sammich and a bag of ice, I�ve been sitting comfortably in one of the few pieces of furniture we have. An incredible dining room table my roommate grabbed while I was away. I scarfed the sammich down - digested a bit, and then set the ashtray, Newport Mediums and a lighter, bottle of Johnny Black, glass, bag of ice and my laptop all within effortless reach.

I began looking at art and design pieces. I�m beginning to feel re-inspired rather than cynical. I want to dive into a piece for weeks and come up for breath only when I�m partially satisfied � or completely dissatisfied with a hunger for recreation. Such an incredible feeling.

And then I read more of my new favorite writer. Some might find it a fault that I cannot truly enjoy the art of someone until I know them personally. I find it a reason to meet more people.

So yeah� I�m drunk� for the first time in a long time. The birds are singing and I have a steady stumble. When I turn my head, it takes a moment for my focus to catch up. Walking is similar to remembering an inside joke with an old friend. I take a few steps and giggle to myself, knowing that I�m putting far more effort into balance than usual.

My knees and stomach are no longer sore from my recent workout routine. Every so often, the empty living room and kitchen echoes with the cold clang of glass and ice confidently laid to rest on the table. A napkin soaked with sweat from my glass bleeds ink from the occasional heavy handed stab and swat� drunken doodling. The birds are chirping their morning song and the blue morning has begun to show its daytime colors. The occasional bathroom visit is now far more a game than a primary function.

Ah yes. Such the perfect way to start a Saturday morning. No wonder so many writers were drunks.