03 November 2004

I am the guy that never goes out. You will only see me in a caf? on the rarest of occasions, the reasons being plentiful and easily deductable. For starters, it's usually a hazy affair with lots of smoking involved that oozes into my clothing and saturates my hair so that my bed stinks of it the morning after. Secondly, I don't drink. And I've been told most people go to their respective pub, bar and/or caf? to get their chug-on; quaffing and swigging away a plethora of alcoholic beverages and devouring peanutsize sustenance as a way to fill their evening.

This just generally holds very little appeal to me. But when presented with the right kind of argumentation or an invitation to ones birthday, I will not show myself too consequent to disappoint my companions. And hence I found myself in a saloon this evening, celebrating the passing-of-age of a friend.

It was a lot of fun, and I even drank a small consumption of the spirituous kind. A fact that bestowed many of the present with some notion of jealousy, as they had long since passed the point where they could fuel the whole evening on just one half-filled glass. I can inform you it was quite the struggle to get it all inside of me, because like I told you before; I don't like alcohol. It's not a matter of learning to like it either: I just happen to think it's genuinely not pleasant to drink. I do feel the desire to have one special drink that I can sip at exclusively, but I have yet to find it. I tried my hand at various specimens, but they all failed the test in quainter or grander scale.

So- a good evening. Then I came home and discovered I still had to write the rant for Captain August. So with tired eyes, I write these words. In the absence of spirit in my blood, I fuel myself with spirit of the mind.