What a busy month it's been. I have a difficult time believing that the rotations of the planet and the path around the sun have brought this year to a close. Somehow solstice slipped past me yesterday.
In Juneau, I celebrated the shortest day of the year with great joy. Even 5 minutes more of sun (when it wasn't overcast) was a blessed event. In the desert, it the temperature and sunshine make the winter much more pleasant.
So Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, and well wishes for all celebrations of endings and beginnings. Welcome back the Sun.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
It's Five O'Clock Somewhere
I was almost ready to post this page last week. As you might imagine, matters of the realm keep me busy. As I typed a few closing lines, I did something that deleted everything, quicker than the Queen of Hearts said, “off with her head.” So thus begins my feeble attempt to recreate what was a brilliant essay.
As you remember, the Way Back Machine had us visiting 1986 and the Mankato era. Reading through the yellowing pages of my diaries, a few things are evident. No one will ever publish the chronicles of my life. The only things noted are when I worked, when I had tests or skipped class. And when I went out. I went out a lot.
I will give credit to Siri, the Lutheran minister’s daughter, who introduced me to vodka. At the Centennial Hall Dining Room over Christmas break. She forgot to tell me to stir after adding the vodka. Apparently it was funny to watch me sputter. Coincidentally that is also the first night I said “fuck.”
My social life really started in Mankato. When I severed the relationship with Jeff number 1, I set off to create a new persona. I joined committees, participated in dorm government. And went out. Met a guy with long hair (for a country girl who went to Catholic school), an earring and wore a leather jacket. Did lights for a band. I guess I became a timid groupie, so to speak. VFW bars in places like Amboy. Dang, Small Change Brian looked good in leather pants. He was the first official photo for Kris’s Butt Shot album, a female response to the male photographers postering of the darkroom wall with scantily clad women.
Being in a college town afforded many imbibing locations. And thank god, many were within stumbling distance home. TJ Finnegan’s (everyone knows your name). The Albatross (meat market and Viking training camp.) South Street Saloon. (Dingy dive for cheap shots, especially ouzo for your best friend who got dumped by phone by her fiancé who married the secretary while he was home for summer vacation.)
Someplace Else (before it became a strip club-I wasn’t that sexually liberated back then).
The Kato Ballroom and the Johnny Holmes Travelling Fun Show. My first tequila shot egged on by Jamie Jacquart may have made learning to polka easier. Maybe not. Too many shots however, leads to puking in the bushes outside the ballroom.
Doing jumbo shots of Jack Daniels to impress the son of the bar owners where I just began cocktailing. I do not recommend that if you are seeking promotional opportunities. Sneaking Hardee’s Moosecups into the Student Union movie night filled with more Southern Comfort than coke. The summer of Lynchburg Lemonade. Editing Muse Magazine with a 2 liter bottle of wine cooler.
Up in the Cities, Pitcher Nite at Big Ten. After intramural softball and broomball, Sporty’s was the place to be. Kevin and Joey never could make me a pool player. Hog’s Breath in the burbs for wet t-shirt and tight jean contests.
For a landlocked town, Juneau, Alaska had its fair share of drinking establishments. The internationally famous Red Dog Saloon, a great place to work, insult your customer and then marry him. G.W. Teal’s for Lemon Drop shots at the weekly “Dispatchers Meeting”. Summer of 1992 when “Senator” Flannigan built the Jaeggermiester shrine. I may have contributed an empty bottle or two.
Hoochi’s Sports bar-they brought strippers in once a year. And for the enquiring mind a hoochi is a rubber quid like object that went over the herring when trolling for salmon. Or a really loose woman in Alaska, generally missing teeth. Hangar on the Wharf, fantasy football headquarters. The owner of the Hangar gave us a going away party when we moved to Arizona and lamented the fact his beer sales were going to drop.
By the time I had moved to Phoenix, I didn’t put a lot in my journals. As far as going out we always went to the same place – Hooters for a carafe (or two or three)of White Zinfandel and a pitcher of Killian’s. We were quite a fixture there.
So perhaps its irony or fate or something unnamable that I sit here at the dawn of 2009 celebrating my second sober New Year’s in 24 years. A new persona to create during what is quite probably a mid-life crisis. But it feels good. Single and sober. A great way to start a new decade. And it’s likely that I will be jotting down more than the 5:00 happy hour spots. Stay tuned.
As you remember, the Way Back Machine had us visiting 1986 and the Mankato era. Reading through the yellowing pages of my diaries, a few things are evident. No one will ever publish the chronicles of my life. The only things noted are when I worked, when I had tests or skipped class. And when I went out. I went out a lot.
I will give credit to Siri, the Lutheran minister’s daughter, who introduced me to vodka. At the Centennial Hall Dining Room over Christmas break. She forgot to tell me to stir after adding the vodka. Apparently it was funny to watch me sputter. Coincidentally that is also the first night I said “fuck.”
My social life really started in Mankato. When I severed the relationship with Jeff number 1, I set off to create a new persona. I joined committees, participated in dorm government. And went out. Met a guy with long hair (for a country girl who went to Catholic school), an earring and wore a leather jacket. Did lights for a band. I guess I became a timid groupie, so to speak. VFW bars in places like Amboy. Dang, Small Change Brian looked good in leather pants. He was the first official photo for Kris’s Butt Shot album, a female response to the male photographers postering of the darkroom wall with scantily clad women.
Being in a college town afforded many imbibing locations. And thank god, many were within stumbling distance home. TJ Finnegan’s (everyone knows your name). The Albatross (meat market and Viking training camp.) South Street Saloon. (Dingy dive for cheap shots, especially ouzo for your best friend who got dumped by phone by her fiancé who married the secretary while he was home for summer vacation.)
Someplace Else (before it became a strip club-I wasn’t that sexually liberated back then).
The Kato Ballroom and the Johnny Holmes Travelling Fun Show. My first tequila shot egged on by Jamie Jacquart may have made learning to polka easier. Maybe not. Too many shots however, leads to puking in the bushes outside the ballroom.
Doing jumbo shots of Jack Daniels to impress the son of the bar owners where I just began cocktailing. I do not recommend that if you are seeking promotional opportunities. Sneaking Hardee’s Moosecups into the Student Union movie night filled with more Southern Comfort than coke. The summer of Lynchburg Lemonade. Editing Muse Magazine with a 2 liter bottle of wine cooler.
Up in the Cities, Pitcher Nite at Big Ten. After intramural softball and broomball, Sporty’s was the place to be. Kevin and Joey never could make me a pool player. Hog’s Breath in the burbs for wet t-shirt and tight jean contests.
For a landlocked town, Juneau, Alaska had its fair share of drinking establishments. The internationally famous Red Dog Saloon, a great place to work, insult your customer and then marry him. G.W. Teal’s for Lemon Drop shots at the weekly “Dispatchers Meeting”. Summer of 1992 when “Senator” Flannigan built the Jaeggermiester shrine. I may have contributed an empty bottle or two.
Hoochi’s Sports bar-they brought strippers in once a year. And for the enquiring mind a hoochi is a rubber quid like object that went over the herring when trolling for salmon. Or a really loose woman in Alaska, generally missing teeth. Hangar on the Wharf, fantasy football headquarters. The owner of the Hangar gave us a going away party when we moved to Arizona and lamented the fact his beer sales were going to drop.
By the time I had moved to Phoenix, I didn’t put a lot in my journals. As far as going out we always went to the same place – Hooters for a carafe (or two or three)of White Zinfandel and a pitcher of Killian’s. We were quite a fixture there.
So perhaps its irony or fate or something unnamable that I sit here at the dawn of 2009 celebrating my second sober New Year’s in 24 years. A new persona to create during what is quite probably a mid-life crisis. But it feels good. Single and sober. A great way to start a new decade. And it’s likely that I will be jotting down more than the 5:00 happy hour spots. Stay tuned.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Losing My Bloginity
Greetings and Salutations My Loyal Readers
(ok...so that's premature and arrogant....oh well.)
Having pondered the question of "To Blog or Not To Blog" for several weeks now, I have finally decided to give it up. I'm going to blame it on my teenage nieces and their making me start a Facebook account.
So that led to searching for an search of names from the dusty card catalog of names from my past. Which led to wondering what those people were doing today. Actually it was yesterday. Which made me wonder what I was doing on November 26, 1986. Which led to a dig for my diaries and journals of all thing mundane and forgettable.
So let's hop into Mr. Peabody's Wayback Machine and return to Mankato, Minnesota. The diary, a gift from Grama Thelma (as part of her World Book Membership-which I loved to read-for no reason).
Quote on the inside cover, "It is the great minds that have difficulty in committing themselves." James Michner, The Drifters. That was my motto. Still is. Of course now days they call it ADD.
I believe I was living on Pearl St., with Kriss Hauch (Maverick) and Kris Franzen (Goose). I was Ice. What can I say...Top Gun was on fire and there were three Kris's living in the same place. It was either that or the red-head, the blonde or the skinny one.
I worked at Mexican Village as a cook. It was the year that fajitas were introduced. I had a an unrequited love for Jamie McNaughton, a fellow cook. But alas, he was smitten by Jody the waitress in the pouffy sleeved uniform. All those looks and dumber than a grapefruit. But she made a hell of lot more than I did. Everyone made more than I did at $3.45 an hour.
My roomies made me leave my guacamole and refried bean coated clothes in the hallway before I came in to the upper floor that we rented. We each paid $88.00 a month. Our furniture was left behind. One piece was the "S" chair.
It was a very popular chair for relaxing. Ours was black and didn't have a frame. I believe the original ended up in Minneapolis (maybe left with Kevin and Joey.)
I found a replica this week. And during my week of recollecting. Coincidence. I think not.Where was I? November 26, 1986. I had an art project due for Color and Design. And I closed at the Mexican Village. Kind of boring.
So here I am sitting on my new S chair wondering where 22 years have gone. If anyone has an answer.....let me know.
And thus I shall close this virgin blog entry. Thank you for being gentle. I can't wait to get more experience.
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