I’M AT LEAST PARTIALLY DRUNK
I HAVE HAD ALCOHOL AND CHINESE FOOD
I CAN ONLY SMELL MYSELF
I’M WALKING AROUND IN MY OWN “TAG CLOUD”: “BEER,” “ODOUR,” “SOYSAUCE”
MY OBITUARY WILL BE WRITTEN IN A STYLE THAT MOCKS AND MIMICS AND “looks winkingly back at” MY LIFE AND THE WAY THIS BLOG IS WRITTEN
I’ve always had an eye for ruined-looking men, and that’s what attracted me to this guy—I’ll call him Johnny Ryan—the sense that he’d been kicked around. By the time he hit thirty, a hardness would likely settle about his mouth and eyes, but as it was—at twenty-nine—he was right on the edge, a screw-top bottle of wine the day before it turns to vinegar.
IS HE TALKING ABOUT THE CARTOONIST JOHNNY RYAN????? IT SEEMS EASY ENOUGH TO COME UP WITH A MORE ANONYMOUS PSEUDONYM. OR DID JOHNNY RYAN GET HIS NAME FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE THAT IS BEING REFERENCED HERE? SHOULD I FINISH READING THIS “REFLECTION” BEFORE COMMENTING PONNITT?
WHAT ELSE. SOMEONE RECENTLY CALLED THE NEW YORKER “MIDDLEBROW,” . I READ DAVID OWENS’S GOLF ARTICLE IN TRIBUTE TO MY FATHER. IT WAS OK, THERE WAS AT LEAST ONE AWESOME PART:
Early in 1941, a freighter, the S.S. Politician, ran aground in the sandy shallows between South Uist and Eriskay. Its cargo included more than twenty thousand cases of whiskey, and, over several weeks, groups of islanders rowed to the wreck and made off with thousands of bottles. They hid the whiskey in cowsheds, rabbit holes, and lobster traps——and significant portions of the adult population of several Hebridean islands stayed drunk for weeks. In 1947, the Scottish novelist Compton Mackenzie wrote a fictionalized account of the wreck and its aftermath, called “Whiskey Galore.” Two years later, the book was made into a movie, filmed mostly on Barra. For its release in the United States, it was retitled “Tight Little Island”; too late, James Thurber suggested “Scotch on the Rocks.”
HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW