I'm not too sure how it got started.
There are a bunch of vague drunken memories, parties at the Legion Hall, at the Guapo/Skittles/etc. house, Beavis's apartment, other places... bouncing around the hallways in Walker or Couch... they're scattershot and out of focus, I can barely hear anyone talk, see anyone move in them. When I replay these memories in my head I usually see and hear little except blue screens and white noise and the occasional snippet of blurred, acid-eaten film. There's just enough to piece together the following curve : I started out a somewhat odd, socially inept geek, trying to connect with others, make friends, that whole bit. I ended up a crackbrained misanthrope that was rightly ostracized.
I'd like to describe in full detail exactly what happened but whatever it was I'm not sure. I honestly don't remember. There was no one moment when it became apparent that my head was an engine loosely bolted, shaking itself to pieces, I just see the beginning and the end.
It's the past. Thankfully all of that is in the past, whatever it was that I did. I am not going to revisit any of those old friends in Norman, not going to offer up sad stale apologies for sad stale memories. I broke those relationships long ago and I can't fix them. I shouldn't fix them. The only thing I can do is move forward and make damn sure that nothing like that ever happens again. However it happened.
I like to reminisce about my time in Oklahoma and my time in college but the truth is that there is nothing to fondly remember, I was a garden-variety bastard to everyone I cared about.
Enough. Enough. It is good to remind myself of what I was and what I can be sometimes but focusing on those facts, replaying them over and over in my head like a Zapruder film, this helps no one. Let's continue.
Saturday was a shut-in day. Woke up at 6 PM after fattening up with a 13-hour sleep binge. Decided that I should just lay about and maybe, if I was still awake at the time, try for one of the most mythical drinks in existence : the fabled Beer for Breakfast. The Avenue Pub is open 24 hours and the bartender would be happy to serve me a carbomb at sunrise.
This involved staying up just 12 hours but I couldn't even do that. Bedded down at 5 AM after reading a good bit and watching an abortion of a film called 'Trixie', a textbook example of how to waste a good actor or actress on a bad role.
Sunday was quite a bit better. The day lived up to its name and the sun was out, peaking at a comfortable 70 degrees. I took this opportunity to buy some clipless pedals for my bike, and I spent the day riding around the French Quarter, getting used to them.
For those who don't know, clipless pedals are small hooked and flanged pedals roughly the size of a business card. They are designed to attach to specially-made bike shoes and cannot be used effectively without these shoes. They literally attach the bicycle to your feet and this will increase your speed and power by a fair amount but a graceful dismount suddenly becomes a spastic hop and a panic stop in heavy traffic could be deadly. Restarts are exercises in balance and foot placement. It's like driving an automatic for years and then buying a stick-shift.
Biking in New Orleans is a dangerous hobby but I have not died yet. There has been an accident or two but nothing I couldn't ride away from. Here's to hoping my string of good luck here continues.
There are a bunch of vague drunken memories, parties at the Legion Hall, at the Guapo/Skittles/etc. house, Beavis's apartment, other places... bouncing around the hallways in Walker or Couch... they're scattershot and out of focus, I can barely hear anyone talk, see anyone move in them. When I replay these memories in my head I usually see and hear little except blue screens and white noise and the occasional snippet of blurred, acid-eaten film. There's just enough to piece together the following curve : I started out a somewhat odd, socially inept geek, trying to connect with others, make friends, that whole bit. I ended up a crackbrained misanthrope that was rightly ostracized.
I'd like to describe in full detail exactly what happened but whatever it was I'm not sure. I honestly don't remember. There was no one moment when it became apparent that my head was an engine loosely bolted, shaking itself to pieces, I just see the beginning and the end.
It's the past. Thankfully all of that is in the past, whatever it was that I did. I am not going to revisit any of those old friends in Norman, not going to offer up sad stale apologies for sad stale memories. I broke those relationships long ago and I can't fix them. I shouldn't fix them. The only thing I can do is move forward and make damn sure that nothing like that ever happens again. However it happened.
I like to reminisce about my time in Oklahoma and my time in college but the truth is that there is nothing to fondly remember, I was a garden-variety bastard to everyone I cared about.
Enough. Enough. It is good to remind myself of what I was and what I can be sometimes but focusing on those facts, replaying them over and over in my head like a Zapruder film, this helps no one. Let's continue.
Saturday was a shut-in day. Woke up at 6 PM after fattening up with a 13-hour sleep binge. Decided that I should just lay about and maybe, if I was still awake at the time, try for one of the most mythical drinks in existence : the fabled Beer for Breakfast. The Avenue Pub is open 24 hours and the bartender would be happy to serve me a carbomb at sunrise.
This involved staying up just 12 hours but I couldn't even do that. Bedded down at 5 AM after reading a good bit and watching an abortion of a film called 'Trixie', a textbook example of how to waste a good actor or actress on a bad role.
Sunday was quite a bit better. The day lived up to its name and the sun was out, peaking at a comfortable 70 degrees. I took this opportunity to buy some clipless pedals for my bike, and I spent the day riding around the French Quarter, getting used to them.
For those who don't know, clipless pedals are small hooked and flanged pedals roughly the size of a business card. They are designed to attach to specially-made bike shoes and cannot be used effectively without these shoes. They literally attach the bicycle to your feet and this will increase your speed and power by a fair amount but a graceful dismount suddenly becomes a spastic hop and a panic stop in heavy traffic could be deadly. Restarts are exercises in balance and foot placement. It's like driving an automatic for years and then buying a stick-shift.
Biking in New Orleans is a dangerous hobby but I have not died yet. There has been an accident or two but nothing I couldn't ride away from. Here's to hoping my string of good luck here continues.