bring the noyz

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you might find
You get what you need

-- Mick

True, quite true.

Let me begin and chastise while praising you, my dear reader, if you had the audacity to bet against me.

Well, alright. . .

It is my sorrowful duty to report that was a bet that you have won. I cast my golden fiddle upon the ground at your feet.

So yeah, I did not make the 9:30am volunteer gig to set up the booths and help an old literary friend celebrate his birthday. Oh well, wha'za fella to do? I am in recovery from celebrating my day of birth.

Last night was the big bash to end all bashes. The big four oh. And yes, like Wayne and Garth, I partied on, oh yes, I partied on.

And Hell yeah, I hope it is neither bragging nor an outright damn lie to claim that although my cosmic odometer has rolled into a new column I can still go like I'm Keith Richards in his prime.

But then again, maybe I can't.

Like rock's original bad boys (The Beatles were the cute ones, those Stones boys just looked nasty), I am now also into my fourth decade. And it has also begun with a bigger bang.

If you thought, my dear reader, that last night somewhere around the time I was chasing down my ninth or tenth jello shot by chugging from a 40 of The Bull, I would have come to the conclusion that missing the volunteer gig was unavoidable, you then join me in being mistaken.

But that's okay. While I may not be joining the half clad totally baked masses in their hedonistic excesses today, I still have a few hedonistic excesses to independently explore. An' oh lordy, strike me down now I am allowed to return a keg that is not completely void of its prior contents.

My focus has shifted.

My immediate focus has shifted from the negative: "Ow, I am one hungover monkey", to the positive. Like Feck, I too am wondering if there's any beer in that can. And indeed, there is. Old Ben was quite correct.

There is beer in that can. And despite the once icy now tepid pool of water diluted with stale beer in which the keg quietly bobs, I am proud to report that the beer is still sufficiently cool to be refreshing.

Aaaaaaaah. . . .

My long term focus has also shifted.
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Hours have past. It is now after midnight, early Sunday morning if you are keeping score at home. I have spent the day dining on leftovers, napping, and slowly chipping away at the stone that is a still more than half full keg of The Star. Countless times I thanked The Wife and told here how wonderful she is and how much I love her and I held and wrestled with The Boy on the couch until his contagious smile controlled and consumed me.

I shall continue my previous ramblings. . .
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The past year was all about death. It couldn't help from being so. First Curtis, then Chris, two of my oldest and dearest of friends. The bastards, they would have totally loved last night's party, with its endless supply of alcohol and girls with teased up hair and clothing that was both revealing and tight in all the right places. Oooooh yeah, all the right places. For me, at least, the 40th birthday party we celebrated last night was as much for me as it was for them. With one big difference. . .

I made it to 40. They selfishly chose not to do so. The bastards. Once more I proudly raised a glass high and then poured it on the ground while I again toasted the brotha's that ain't here, the bastards.

The shock and sorrow of their mortality has faded into frequent thoughts of my own. Over the coures of the past twelve months I have spent many nights, way to fucking many, sitting as I am doing now, in front of this screen listening to music and frantically trying to drunkenly type my profoundly fleeting wisdom.

40.

Statistically speaking, half-way to my own entrance to the Void if I'm lucky. Perhaps a third if my luck optimistically coincides with advances in medical science.

But "that was then and this is now and it doesn't matter anyhow" is how the unfinished and unwritten song bobbing 'round in my head goes.

And as I have stated, my focus has shifted.

The past twelve months have been all about death. The next twelve will be all about life. It must be so, I have proclaimed it. Rather than focus on the world I will inevitably some day leave behind, I shall instead spend my thoughts on the beauty of the world in which I currently live.

"And when you lose control you'll reap the harvest you have sown" -- Roger Waters, "Dogs"

Life is good, life is grand. If the events of the past night's festivities have taught me nothing else, I have learned and been reminded of a great many people who love me as much as I do them. And that's a wonderful thing. Ultimately, it's why we're here, to love and to be loved.

"So remember when you're feeling very small and insecure how amazingly unlikely is your birth
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space coz there's bugger all down here on Earth" -- Python, Monty, "Galaxy Song"

And hopefully on some faraway day, we will all leave this place in just a little better state than it was in when we got here.
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