BearSchlong

Shame about NYNY. Had my weekly lunch with the producer’s BIL on Friday and had just put it on my list for next trip. But yeah, the critics weren’t impressed. Was thinking about coming up in Oct for that and the Opera “Dead Man Walking” at the Met.

If he's eating Whataburger he ain't actively dying. Firing up the big motor in a few and headed back to the dock and Texas, I think I'll have what MAC’s having. He needs a T-shirt that says “Brisket dared me to live, hold my beer (for keeps)” If it is his last meal though, hope he gets to eat from the good batch of fries.

Youre on! I'm going to schedule accordingly.

I've been tooling around AUS and DFW for the last 6 hours re-listening to Joe and Charlie and their book commentary. It's just such an enduring gem.

I went to high school with Dade’s sister and female cousins. Kathryn, Phoebe, Mollie, even Keely. And the other cousin Kim who was smoking hot but turned out batshit crazy. Blue eyes, blonde hair, all of them. They're just attractive people. My wife works with Dade’s wife and I suggested he and I could do a remake of this but got shot down.

Holy shit, that was a chilling article. As a sober alcoholic, I had an out loud conversation with myself earlier today about why I inexplicably lean towards self-sabotage whenever the opportunity presents itself. I'm in put up or shut up mode on a few business matters involving others, and I was shouting at myself in the third person while driving down the highway. It's not insane if I'm self-aware, right? Anyway, it changed my perception. To John - I regret our paths didn't cross. To his family and loved ones - nothing short of locking him up that you could have done if he was hell-bent on sparring with the disease. I hate that some die to remind others to live. I just wish you'd been there in my pickup to laugh at me. I would have treated you to gumbo and grilled flounder at the Schooner.

Or

Or

Whenever my wife gets a case where a parent has tested hot for PCp I have two reactions.

Give him my number, id love to stop by for a cup or coffee or whatever.

80 for Brady in the ass Remember the titans in the ass Rudy in the ass The longest yard in the ass Friday night lights in the ass North Dallas 40 in the ass Chariots of fire in the ass Hoosiers in the ass Tin cup in the ass The legend of bagger Vance in the ass Face off in the ass Field of dreams in the ass Six pack in the ass The sting in the ass Pete’s dragon in the ass Fury in the ass Fists of fury in the ass Sixteen candles in the ass Wind in the ass Flight of the intruder in the ass Steel magnolias in the ass Seven in the ass Gold finger in the ass Big in the ass The toy in the ass Trading places in the ass

He isn’t close to being done. See, the trick is you have to drink yourself sober. It has to stop working. He’s in the middle of a chemistry experiment. The trick is to reach the inevitable conclusion before overshooting the mark and either dying or hurting a civilian. I’d recommend that his wife lawyer up pronto and go to Al Anon, for her children’s protection and her sanity. As for your friend, offer to buy him a bottle of his favorite. That’s the only way to accelerate his becoming beaten into a state of reasonableness. In the old days, before the proliferation of modern “spin dry” rehabs, the AA old timers would throw him a few bucks and tell him to go get drunk and return when he was actually ready for help. Then they would interrupt their own lives and go to any length to help the still suffering alcoholic recover. We still do. Alcoholism is a self-diagnosed disease, and until you have it, you don’t. And when you realize you do, you have to take responsibility for recovery. That’s harsh, I know. But alcoholism is pure insanity and negotiating with the insane is pointless.

The only nice thing I have to say about my ex wife is during her 13 years at St. Mary’s we always had an amazing time at Oyster Bake. Of course then I had to stop drinking.

Let’s just step back for a moment and contemplate what the word “career” means to sane, reasonable, rational, moderate, normal people. Walter Cronkite had a career. Tucker Carlson built the media equivalent of a black hole.

I need to visit again, the place is prettier without snow.

At least you caught something. The minute I hooked up to my trailer this morning my phone alerted me to a small craft advisory so I went and got breakfast instead.

Profane Elmo, Eddie Murphy Raw, and Colin Jost - Michael Che writing racist jokes for each other to read is pretty entertaining, though.

Desantis just needs Trump to suddenly die. It's earth day, y'all. And anti-ESG Ron Desantis still doesn't have any better ideas.

Ron doesn’t even run for office if he never meets and marries a television reporter. He just sits there in obscurity, authoring fan letters to Clarence Thomas and lamenting that he was born 250 years too late.

Once you get south of Homestead you’re not really in Florida anymore.

That Michael Cohen one is pretty entertaining, in small doses.

Holy shit just imagine the backlash!

So I went to the Black Bear diner at the truck stop for a Denver omelet, and as I was pulling out, I saw a lot lizard huddled near a parking lot light stanchion with what looked like two big plastic hefty bags full of her life. And as I drove away, I thought the Christian, chivalrous action would be to stop to ask how I could be of service. Maybe one day, when I’ve got generational Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation time and wealth, I’ll start a make-a-wish foundation like charity for lost souls.

The mental obsession. “Next time I’m going to get it right, and it’s going to be pure bliss!”

Now. . . The are no “big deals” anymore. The Gods and the government and the universe aren’t picking on me. Suck it up, buttercup, and start adulting. I went to the ragtag misfit group tonight (Fellowship)for a meeting and talked to a guy for a half hour afterward who picked up a 60-day chip. His sponsor is 11 years sober and 31 yrs old, one of my litter mates and closest friends. There were a half dozen people there who were at my first meeting. I’ve watched their lives over the last 12 years. It hasn’t always been pretty. One is a steadfast, dependable recovery-focused older man whose kids have taken some challenging roads. Another dealt with a different addiction that left him with HIV. Another was Mr. AA, and then he inherited some $Millions from his frugal, responsible father. I watched from afar as he spent it all on hookers and blow and surfing and motorcycles but is back in the rooms. He’s also the guy that bought my old boat and promptly sank it. Another retired as a ship captain but had to watch his very darling wife wrestle with painkiller addiction. Way back when, after one of her surgeries, my wife made them a gumbo, and we delivered it to their house. He was on the high seas; she was flying high. But for some inexplicable reason, we find ourselves at the same bat time and same bat channel, with a new class of newcomers and retreads, seeking unity in our defects (see daily reflections for April 19th for context). And all the characters I just described are currently safe, sober, and sane. And that’s a gold stars all around condition. I had to fall in love with the program and the people. So after a droll day working remotely where my only human contact was Webex calls with managers, product managers, and engineers, I was happy to sit with spiritual beings having a human experience in the same chair that I plopped myself into in January 2011 when I thought life was unraveling and possibly ending. This is what happily ever after looks like in physical and emotional sobriety. Life happens. The sudden happens. And I can’t be whining because my latest raise was only 5% and not the 25% that my alcoholic mind expected. I didn’t get that complimentary first-class or deluxe suite upgrade that my platinum elite ego craved. Or I have to suffer through the undersized Admiral’s club in AUS with a bunch of Californians. A disease of perception.