Post-Modern Drunk: I eat alone now, but I still drink for two

Post-Modern Drunk: I eat alone now, but I still drink for two
There's a really bad Russian movie I saw years and years ago called Morozka--better known by it's English title of "Jack Frost" that I only know because Mystery Science Theater 3000 did an episode mocking it. It's really low budget, crappy, and extraordinarily trippy. I can't imagine watching it with out Servo, Crow, and Joel mocking it, but their version is very funny. As an example of how bad this movie really was, the only trivia about it on IMDB is that when one of the characters eats an apple, it was in fact an onion, because an apple was too expensive.

Bad bad movie.

Anyway, the only scene I really remember from the movie is when the protagonist is attacked by a group of bandits, he uses his wits and superpowers to steal their cudgels and tosses them up into the air. A year later, he is walking down the same road, and the same bandits attack him. He is saved because their cudgels finally fall from the sky and knock them out.

This is sort of the way I feel right now. I am absolutely addicted to email, and I've hit a rough patch on my addiction; in the last 72 hours, I have sent out close to 20 emails. And not short emails, either. I never quite mastered the pithy paragraph long email, instead crafting long rambling missives that go 300-500 words at the very least (I quickly learned back in college that 350 words wound up being a page of text, properly formatted, and further got to a point where I could spit out a five page paper in less than an hour, which I would hand in to my professor without even spell-checking).

20 emails. 20 cudgels hovering in the air, waiting for the proper moment to fall back down on my head. It started slow. Maybe a half dozen in a day. But no response came. I started sending out more, desperately hoping people would return my emails. Some trickled in, but they were no help, as I would quickly fire off another 500 words to my friend.

I need help.

Sure, I understand why some of them have fallen on deaf ears. When, after the 8th glass of bourbon, something like this:

I'm really amazingly drunk right now. So much so that I'm amazed I spelled your name right, much less any of the words that followed it--simple words like "and" or "I" are possibly beyond me. It's really only my overwheening pride that has forced me to spell as much as I have correctly so far.

So excuse me if i a) speak out of turn or b) speak too bluntly for ordinary conversation--I'm really expending all my energy just trying to spell with a modicum of accuracy.

comes out of your fingertips, you understand why people don't respond. (I am nevertheless proud at how reasonably well put-together it is. Plus, hey, "modicum"! Good word! Go me!)

One of my friends in college kept telling me that I need to "re-the-fuck-lax." I guess this is what she was probably talking about.

comments[7] | 4/20/2005 | perma-link

›bio: stu
›archives

«« (back)				(forward) »»
by order of the town drunk				supersaturation

Previous Posts

›		A New Home

›		Notes on a Pandemic

›		Notes on Sobriety

›		Republicans Are Tough Guys

›		Brain Fog

›		Clown Posse

Category List

›		Alcohol
›		CSA
›		Favorites
›		February Smackdown
›		Hospital
›		Literary Shit
›		Mad Craziness
›		Portmanteau
›		Random 10
›		Stupidity
›		Women