When Good Things Happen To Crude People

I gotta admit, this is one of my favorite drawings and I've never posted the whole thing before. Yeah, that's pretty much what I look like. "It's the people in front that I jar." Throw in some drugs, fat chicks, musical instruments, and the violent overthrow of the government and that's pretty much what I think about, too...

So I've been in a good mood lately. (And once more, the blog reveals itself as an accurate emotional barometer for the oaf -- frequent posts lacking in angst means a good mood.) I had a ridiculously good bout of yardsales on Saturday -- I'll show you photos of my new baritone ukulele when I get it in shape. (Actually, I'm gonna tune it E-A-D-G and treat it as a tenor bass rather than a baritone ukulele -- gonna try and learn how to do solos on it.) And despite the missus being out of town my good mood has lasted the weekend intact.

Yesterday I decided to stretch myself and go to a party. I've mentioned that as a feral child (When I refer to myself using this term around the missus, she gets real serious and says, "You really are a feral child, you know." I know, sweetie. I know. So does everybody else.) I have a few issues around socialization and tend to be very, very uncomfortable around people I don't know unless I have a specific role to play that I know about in advance.

I had a swell time. No anxiety involved -- I was completely at my ease for the whole thing.

And at the end of the evening I would up hanging out with the host and hostess for hours -- it made me think about my pre-Karen days when most of my friendships were with couples. (I think that for a lot of my pals I was as much a surrogate child as I was a friend. A surrogate child who could move your stove.) Gave a pleasant nostalgic vibe to the evening for me, in addition to the feeling of cementing new relationships.

And there were beers, pina coladas, mead, shots of Bacardi 151, and flavored tobacco smoked from an honest-to-Arabian-Nights hookah. All in moderation, of course. I remained presentable throughout.

Here's a bit more on the party. Thanks for the swell time, Allison and Adam!

That would have been plenty. But the onslaught of pleasant didn't stop there.

When I got home I was, of course, compelled to check my email. And one of my emails started out like this...

On behalf of the staff and the instructors, I'd like to welcome you as a student to Viable Paradise, and say congratulations!
This letter is an email confirmation of your acceptance to the 2009 Viable Paradise Writers Workshop, aka VP 13/XIII.

I got in? I got in. I got in!

Hey, motherfucker, better get this straight -- your momma's got a pussy like a 248. Runs on diesel, runs on gas, hey motherfucker gonna kick your ass!

This is the kind of thing that could really make a difference in my (say the word, oafboy -- sac up and say the fucking word) career. I mean, I'll be palling around with the guy who buys books for Tor, with one of the Braniacs, with the woman who wrote Glass Houses (a particularly swell second-wave cyberpunk novel) and a number of other luminaries, including one dude I've unfortunately slandered on this site. And one of the stories I submitted is my first attempt at a series that I've thought would be my Big Work for fucking decades. And...

And... And...

Shit, I couldn't sleep last night. I had to resist calling everyone I knew at fucking three in the morning. Right now I feel like hammered shit -- in a good way. Fuck it; I'm damned proud right now. I've been feeling better and better about myself over the last few years. And in these moments when I look at myself and see both promise and accomplishment, I've had a phrase go through my mind. It's from an old traditional song the Pogues covered...

So be easy and free when you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet every day